


Secret of the Valiant

by ProfessionalDaydreaming



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, Fantasy, High Fantasy, Magic, TTRPG, Valiant - Freeform, professionaldaydreaming, secret, secret of the valiant, special attack studios
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessionalDaydreaming/pseuds/ProfessionalDaydreaming
Summary: Fifty-five years ago, the continent of Traziras was nearly plunged into war by two powerful yet opposing factions, both unknowingly puppeteered by a powerful evil. To stop them, a group of powerful adventurers calling themselves the Valiant rose up to combat this evil and barter for peace. Though they succeeded in vanquishing their enemy and restoring order, almost all of them vanished without a trace shortly thereafter.Over half a century later, a new generation of heroes emerges.Zhull Blackhand, a half-orc soldier on the run.Narani of the Wind Fist, an apeling wandering a strange land.Ibuun Ummeric, a dragonborn in search of providence.Thistle, a moon elf with a deadly secret.New and even more sinister forces would reignite the war the Valiant fought to end, and it's up to this group of unlikely adventurers to help stave it off. And what's more, rumor is spreading of ancient forces making themselves known. Will they stop the tides of war from turning and what is the secret of the Valiant?
Kudos: 1





	1. The Iron Ward

Outside, the air of Biharbor was crisp with moonlit breezes over calm waters, the twinkling lights of the tumbling city trailing down the descent like a waterfall of stars. In Lakehelm, the people minded their own business, keeping their heads down and in hushed tones as they closed up their businesses. Or made their way to dinner somewhere. Or met with an acquaintance or friend or lover on the street for a nighttime rendezvous. On the other side in Antorac, the people called out from tavern windows and rooftops to familiar faces to join them or jeer them. People mingled about the streets in small crowds, laughing or shouting among themselves or to others. The air was sizzling with fragrances of cooking meats and toasted spices, the buildings a messier toss of children's toys down the flight of stairs that was Biharbor's descending streets.

But that was outside. Inside, the Iron Ward was cold and wet and dark. The brisk night breeze was replaced by stale, musty air; the tumbling buildings replaced with orderly, unfeeling stones and stout iron bars. There were no songs or voices or calls to neighbors or even hushed whispers. There was only the occasional, ceaseless drip from somewhere unseen deep within the confines and the silent, stubborn passing of time.

But silence is always broken, this time by a gruff voice within one of the furthest cells sequestered in the corner-most hall on the uppermost floor, as far away from anyone else as could be.

"Is anyone else in here?"

The silence was threatened again by a response, a woman's small, accented voice that replied, "I am here as well."

The owner of the deeper voice stepped forward as far as he could to the front of the cell. Strong, green fingers grasped the bars. He was tall, his shoulders broad, limbs wrapped in corded muscle, with long dark hair that fell in braids behind him just passed the shoulder. White tusks protruded from the bottom lip atop a thick chin-strap beard, accentuating a thick brow folded in consternation over bright, amber eyes. The shoulders bunched with aggravated tension, his face pressed as far as it could to the bars so that his forehead rested against the cool steel.

"Good, at least there's one other person. No offense. Anyone else?"

"Oi," replied a third voice, casting off fully the veil of silence. This voice was was deeper than the one before, accented locally from the poorer side of Lakehelm. The voice stepped forward to the bars as well, leaning against them with exaggerated fatigue. He was a man - a human man - with a tumble of light brown hair tucked under a bandanna. The weak light from the torches that flickered in their sconces revealed a sun-tanned face, half-smiling through a goatee and mustache, dark eyes watching out through the darkness. He wore only a loose shirt that could have white a long time ago, a few belts over dark trousers. A small hint of a tattoo could be seen from under the sleeve of the shirt, with some markings along the fingers as well.

"Three of us then," replied the first voice. "Name's Zhull. Zhull Blackhand. Mind sharing what you got arrested for?"

"Pleasure, Zhull," said the man, "Is that something we should really be discussing in here? The walls have ears."

"Is there anything else to do? Do you at least know why you were arrested? If so, than whoever might be listening already knows too." There was a pause, the man's finger tapping a rhythm into the bars while he thought.

"I'm Allister Stormgale. Man of business, professional gentleman, Captain of the Horizoner. Wrongly accused and arrested for smuggling a few items through the Harbor. Of which there is no proof." Allister made a point to glance about the dim hall, gesturing to the walls around as much as to Zhull, whom he could barely see from his cell. After his speech, he settled back against the far wall where he could still see Zhull. "And you, sir? What foul deed has landed you here?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking. I was picked up after a little argument at a tavern I was trying to get a room at."

"Was this the sort of argument that involves property damage?"

"That's racist, just like the person I forcefully introduced to the bottom of my tankard. I wasn't trying to start a fight, I was defending myself. Then I was the one who got picked up."

Allister put a hand up.

"My apologies. Out of curiosity, were you trying to find a room in Lakehelm? Or Antorac?"

Zhull's eyebrow lifted. "What are those?"

"I'd say Lakehelm," said Allister with a slight shake of his head. "Not from around here, then?"

"Just got into town to look for work. And was there still someone else in here, or am I hearing things?"

"No, I am still here," replied the woman's voice again. On the opposite side of the hall, another figure emerged into the dim light from out the shadows near the back of the cell. At first, Zhull thought it might be some sort of beast, covered in black fur. It appeared to be a bear at first glance, but it was too small and thing and walked with a hunch. It took a moment to realize it was just the skin of a bear, worn like a hood over a head of dark fur, with a pale, simian face that peered out through small, beady eyes. The mouth pulled back into a wide, white small with large canines that caught the light. The hands and feet were pale as well, with long, thin arms covered in dark fur that stretched from a leather vest and pants covered in pouches and belts.

"Is that... is that a monkey?"

"That is also racist, as you say. I am an apeling. Narani, of the Wind Fist tribe."

"And were you arrested with Mr. Blackhand then?"

"Never met him before. I was just exploring the city, meeting its people. Some guards asked me where I was from, but I did not tell them. It was none of their business, and they were very rude to me. They grabbed me before I could get away and brought me here. I haven't heard anything else, though."

"You're definitely not from around here. Looks like you were both in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like I was," Allister amended, casting another challenging glance around the chamber.

"Is this the normal generosity this town shares with its newcomers?" Zhull asked.

"When you both look like that, then yes. No offense, as you say. Lakehelm isn't really the most welcoming place for half-orcs and... apelings? You would have faired better on the other side of the town. In Antorac."

"I find that a little hard to believe, based on what I have seen," said the apeling. Her movements were furtive, skirting around the edges of the bars, sometimes climbing over them, looking for some purchase.

Allister sighed, shaking his head.

"I suppose that's fair. And I wouldn't worry about trying to find a way out. The Iron Ward's the strongest prison in Lakehelm. You'd have to have some agent on the outside..." His voice trailed off near the end as the hallway was overtaken by a shadow from the end of the wing, emerging in front of the dancing torchlights. As the figure approached, keeping low as they made their way closer, sticking to the shadows, they were almost at the cells when Allister snapped to attention, rounding and grasping the bars.

"Thistle!"

The smaller figure emerged from the shadows, though only just. Their form was robed in a dark cloak that seemed to tug the shadows with them out into the light. Delicate hands, reached back under the robes to reveal a pack which unrolled to reveal several tools. A wisp of white hair was the only thing either Zhull or Narani could make out from where they were, though they were both pressed against the bars, mirroring one another.

"Shh! Quiet!" A woman's voice emerged from beneath the hood, a little wispy, and barely above a whisper. "Do you want them to hear you?"

"I'm just happy to see you. I didn't think you liked me enough to come and find me. I should have known better, if course-"

"I don't," came Thistle's reply. "The Beggar King sends his regards. You're to meet with him tonight, incarcerated or no."

Allister's grip on the bars shifted, his posture leaning back from Thistle.

"The Beggar King?"

"Yes."

"The King of the Beggars?"

"As the name implies, yes."

"The one that's a myth and not real."

"Not the one that's a myth, no. But with the real Beggar King, yes. It's your throat if you're late. I was sent to retrieve you." Small, grayish-blue hands pulled a pick from the unfurled, which Thistle set about applying to the lock of the door. Allister moved his face down so he was level with hers.

"This is some sort of joke, right? You're just messing with me? Very clever, Thistle. Always a joke from this one."

"I wouldn't be sticking my neck out in the Iron Ward for a smuggler for any kind of joke and you know it. The Beggar King has his eyes on you. He's found your performance a little, shall we say, lacking. You have some explaining to do." The nervous laughter died on Allister's lips.

"You can't be serious. You mean the Beggar King is real?"

"As you and me," she said, fingers working the lock. "And we could get this over with a lot sooner if you could back up and just let me-" There was the sound of something pulling and a snap of small metal, followed by metal shards hitting the stone floor. Thistle remained frozen by the door for a moment, Allister's eyebrow slowly crawling up his forehead.

"Let you...?"

"Don't." Thistle reached down and plucked what appeared to be two disparate pieces of a pick she had been using.

"So... you obviously have another pick? Or another plan, perhaps?"

"I would if you would let me think for a moment." The hands reached into the shadow of the hood, the shoulders hunched in thought, a slight twitch with each dripping echo from somewhere deep in the Iron Ward.

"Excuse me. I have a pick." Thistle turned, her face still shrouded, to Narani's cell. The apeling was waiting, a pristine lock pick held in her hand. Thistle made her way over, but before she could take the pick, Narani's hand moved back behind the bar. "Not so fast. Perhaps we can help each other. I will give you this pick, but only if you use it to let me out first."

"And me," added Zhull.

"And him," continued Narani. "I can help you freeing Allister and we can all escape together."

Through the light, Narani could begin to see the details of her face. She had fine, delicate features, her face the same blue-gray as he hands. Her hair was long under her hood, though it was pulled back where it was out of the way. Her piercing blue eyes were almost luminous in the shadows of her hood and she had tall, luminous ears that seemed a darker shade of blue than the rest of her face. Her dark mouth was a deep brow, her brow furrowed in a fierce scowl. Her eyes darted back and forth, tracking the details of Narani's face.

Her expression only changed as her ears twitched, her eyes widening. Somewhere deep in the Iron Ward were the sounds of metal scraping on stone, hinges screeching in protest as heavy doors were moved. Voices began to rise up, moving closer to them from somewhere below.

"You do not have a lot of time, and you need this and my help. It is either this, or your mission is a failure. No pick, no Allister, and you must return to this Beggar King empty handed," Narani said.

"If I fail, then you're still stuck here," she hissed in retort.

"I can see what you are. I want your assurance that you will free us. We can help each other and all of us can make it out of here tonight. It is your choice." Behind them, they could hear steps rising up the tower that lead to their floor in the prison.

Seconds ticked by.

"Just give it here and I'll help you. We have to hurry," she said, her shoulders slumping. Narani passed the pick to her through the bars to Thistle, who brought it down immediately to Narani's lock. The small sounds of shifting metal began to blend with the steps rising up the landings before there was a satisfying click and Narani's door swung free. She gave a jump, the bearskin hood landing heavily over her head as she rushed out and shook Thistle's hand in a flurry of motion.

"Thank you! Now the next one."

"Are you sure-"

"Just come on."

They dashed across the hallway to Zhull's cell, his dark-green face still pressed against the bar hard enough to leave an impression in his skin.

"C'mon..." he muttered as he watched them work.

"Keep it to yourself," Thistle hissed, "we have to concentrate. I'm not sure if there's something wrong with your lock, but I've almost got it."

"Almost is close enough," Zhull said. He took a step back from the door, when rammed the door with his shoulder. The noise was deafening in the space. Thistle had just enough time to pull the pick back as something in the lock snapped and the door fell open, listing heavily on one side.

"Yes! Thank you, both of you!"

"Shh! Was that really necessary?"

"Sorry. I'll keep watch while you get Allister." Zhull moved to the end of their hallway, now able to get a better look of where they had taken him now that he wasn't trying to fight his way free. Their hallway was only one of a few other offshoots from a main hallway. It was wider than theirs, with barrels and crates and other things kept in storage near the top of the prison, out of the way of the other floors. Zhull could hear them starting on the final door as he watched torchlight begin to rise from under the door at the end of the hallway.

"Haste would be appreciated."

"What do you think we're doing?!" Thistle spat back, turning back to the lock. She shook her head with a sigh. "This one's different than yours and the other one's. Heavier."

"He is Zhull. I am Narani. It is good to meet you. Thistle, yes? I will listen, you will turn. Pull when I tell you," said Narani, putting her ear to the lock as Thistle began to work. Allister's head was bent on the other side of the door, and Zhull could hear them whisper advice and encouragement to one another as they all worked on the lock together.

At the end of the hall, the iron doors swung open the a creak and sound of jangling keys. Two guards appeared at the end, their long shadows cast out over the stone floor of the prison hallway. They were talking to each other in hushed tones, torches out as they looked down each hallway. Their white and gold uniforms caught the light, as well as the swords they carried on their hips as they walked forward.

"Any time now," Zhull whispered back.

"Another half turn to the left. No, my left."

"Hold down and pull. Not yet. Wait, go back-"

"Would you both stop? I've almost got it. Pull now?" Another three heartbeats passed before there was a definitive click and a collective exhale as Allister emerged from his cell, clapping Thistle on the shoulder. He was about to say something, but was stopped by Thistle jamming a finger to his chest, then holding one up to her lips. The four of them fell into silence as they moved to the opening of their little hallway, Allister behind Zhull, Thistle on the other side of the hallway, cast in as much shadow as she could. There were boxes at the end of their hallway as well, things that had been left there and forgotten about. Narani tried not to make a comparison to what their situation could have been as she climbed on top, despite Thistle shaking her head frantically behind her. She waited on the top, breath held, as the light made its way closer.

"...in your cups on the job again, mate. I told you there wasn't nothing."

"I heard a crash. And I thought there had been some new prisoners taken to the top anyway."

"To the top? Who wants to walk up all those stairs. I didn't hear none of that. Only thing up here is boxes and rats to live in 'em." The shadows came into clearer focus as they made it to the end of the hall. As they rounded the corner, Narani descended from above them on the stack of crates, flinging herself on top of one of the guards. There was a blur of dark limbs and one tail that wrapped around the closest guard, a hand clapping over his mouth as he was dragged to the floor in a struggling heap. As the other turned and reached for his sword, Zhull and Allister reached out and took the man by the shoulder, drawing him back into the shadow as Thistle made her way across the hall. There wasn't enough time for a cry of help before several fists descended on the man's temple and he went limp in Zhull's grip. Allister made his way over with a quick step to the other guard still struggling with Narani, delivering the same incapacitating treatment that left both men unconscious on the ground, bruises beginning to rise on the sides of their faces.

"Anything to truss these two up?" Allister asked?

"Better idea," Zhull proclaimed. He picked both of them up, taking a ring of keys as well as a dagger and two short swords from their belts. He then placed each in one of the cells that were still open before locking them each inside.

"Bloody well done, Thistle. Could work on your time, a bit."

"Criticizing your best chance of escape has never been a good look, Allister. Feel free to point the way out. Oh, you don't know it, of course. I, however..." Thistle sniped, hands on her hips. She was shorter than Allister by almost a foot, but he shrank under the rancor of her gaze.

"Point taken. Lead the way."

"I've got a second story exit. We repel down and then hop the gate."

"We can't leave yet." Zhull crossed his arms. Thistle's head turned slowly, cocked to one side.

"Excuse me?"

"We can't leave yet. Not without my gear."

"You can't just wave down the tavern owner and have them bring your horse round. In case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a prison break here. Who even are you?"

"Zhull Blackfoot. Nice to meet you. Thistle right? This is Narani."

"I also need my things," Narani added, walking from behind Zhull. Her gait utilized all of her limbs touchings the ground in a mismatch of hands and feet. "There are valuables I cannot part with."

"You cannot be serious."

"Need my affects as well, love. Fair bit a coin in there still. I plan to be out tomorrow, and there's some people I'll need to pay."

"The armory is on the second level, right next to the warden's suite," Thistle protested. "It's too dangerous. Best case you get arrested again, and it only gets worse from there."

"Then leave, if you know the way out. But the rest of us have things we need. Either you help us, or you leave empty handed," said Zhull. He stepped past Thistle, heading toward the doorway to the stairs, Narani in toe. Allister strode by as well, patting Thistle on the shoulder before she could brush him away.

"Or you're free to go back and say you failed, like the monkey said."

"Apeling."

"As you say. Fairly sure your Beggar King wouldn't take too kindly to that, if he's as real as you suggest. Best follow us and point the way." He didn't break his stride, leaving Thistle standing by herself at the end of the hallway, half obscured by the flickering torchlight. The three of them opened the door at the end of the hall as quietly as they could. A spiral of stairs lead up and down in front of them, and they began to discuss the strategies involved in successfully descending the stairs without detection. Yet Thistle remained behind them, standing stubbornly at the far end of the hallway with a frown that could bend metal. She watched the three of them talk amongst themselves, Narani's head turn back to her for a moment before Allister shook his head, turning her attention back to the stairs.

Four heartbeats passed, the pressure growing in Thistle's temples before she groaned and stalked back behind them.

Allister smiled and opened his mouth, but Thistle put a hand in front of his face.

"Not a word. Narani, you look quiet. Or quieter than these two," she said, inclining her head toward the men.

"I can move without being detected, yes."

"You and I will take the front and scout the floor. We'll make a decision about if it's safe to enter the armory. If it isn't, we exit immediately. If it is, we'll see about getting inside. Fair?"

"Whatever it takes," Zhull said. "Lead the way."

Thistle and Narani both moved into the stairs, crouched as low as they could, sticking to the inside wall of the spiral as they descended down the tower. Their footsteps were silent as they made their way down, the two men behind them, trying and failing to be as quiet. When they made it down to the next door, Thistle put a finger to her lips, revealing the ring of keys taken from the guards and applying them to the door. Zhull blinked and looked down to see the empty space on his belt.

"How did you do that?"

"Quiet!" she whispered. "How many times do I have to ask you? Once more, and I'm leaving you here for the guards while we get away. Understand?" Zhull opened his mouth to say something, paused, then closed his mouth again. Thistle rolled her eyes, turning back to the door until one of the keys finally turned the lock. With painful slowness, she slid the door open, peering out into the second floor.

The layout was much the same as the floor they had come from, only more populous. Two guards were posted on the far end of the hall, an iron grate behind them containing several items. To their left was a wooden door, a warm light coming from the gap beneath.

"There it is," whispered Thistle. "But it's guarded. There's no way to get in without being seen."

"If we are fast enough, we could take them out before they have time to react," said Narani. Thistle glanced up to the apeling above her, clinging to the edge of the door above where Thistle crouched with two hands a foot.

"There's barely any cover. Just a few crates and refuse barrels. We'll be spotted. You'll just have to leave it."

"There is plenty of cover for me," said Narani. Before Thistle could protest, she snaked her way through the opening, still hanging onto the door. She kept to the flickering shadows, watching the guards at the end of the hall, only moving when one would turn to speak to the other.

"And how's your son?"

"Strong lad, aye. Very strong..."

Thistle clenched a fist, trying not to hiss a curse as she poked her head out to watch, Zhull and Allister looking out above her. Narani's grip found hand-and-footholds where others could not, her deft fingers clinging to the surface of the wall like a spider. She made her way around to one of the refuse barrels in the hallway, waiting for the guards to turn away again before leaping into the air, silently catching one of the support beams that crossed over the ceiling space above. She moved like an acrobat along a tightrope, following the beams until she was stationed over the center of the hallway. She then cupped her hands to her mouth and blew, making a whistle who's origin seemed to come from within the grate behind the guards.

Startled, the two men turned to one another, their white uniforms shining in the light, hands trailing to the spears they had left on the side walls.

"Did... did you hear that, mate?" one asked.

"I don't know what I heard," said the other, both of them turning for a moment to peer into the darkness behind the grate.

"Follow me," Thistle bit out. She drifted into the hall like a shadow, moving between the shadows of the torchlight while the guards had their back turned. Zhull and Allister moved to the opposite side of the hall, hiding out of sight down another hall. There were a few more cells around them and they could hear the faint snoring and murmuring of sleeping prisoners, unaware of the agents in the halls.

Just as the group took their positions, the guards turned back around, shrugging.

"But you did hear something, right?"

"Me? No. Someone been telling ghost stories at the taverns? Don't fell me you've turned coward, mate."

"Of course not! You heard it too! I saw the look on your face!"

"You're dreaming. I was just humoring you."

Whilst they spoke, Thistle glanced up to Narani, pointing to the grate in exasperation. Narani shrugged, a puzzled look on her face. Now that they were in the hall, it would be more difficult to get out. What's more, they didn't really have a plan for accessing the little armory with the guards there. Thistle frowned, her eyes flicking over the ground in thought, Zhull and Allister watching from the other side, waiting.

After a few moments, Thistle sighed. She reached into her cloak and through one of her many pouches, producing a small piece of fleece which she began to sculpt with her hands. As she did, it felt as if her hands moved through some unseen force around her.

In the center of the hallway, shadows began to pool in the middle of the hall.

Thistle's eyes shone with a faint light - moonlight playing over water. Her fingers seemed to sculpt the shadows as they moved through the fleece until it was roughly in the shape of a person. In the center of the hallway, the shadows coalesced into a similar shape, like a flickering outline of a man with no features, standing in the center of the hallway, staring forward. The torchlight seemed to move around the space for only a few moments before encroaching, banishing the phantom as quickly as it had formed.

All the while, the guards had watched in silent consternation while a phantom appeared in the hallway, then vanished without a trace.

"Now I know you saw that..."

"Quiet!," whispered the other. "If someone's there, get back to your cell now!" There was the sound of spears dragging along the stone as the guards raised them, bringing them to bare as they began to move into the hallway.

"We saw you," said the guard again. "We know you're there. Reveal yourself and get back to your cell now. I don't know how you got out, but it won't happen again."

All of them waited in silence as the two began to advance, spears at the ready. Allister's eyes were wide, glaring at Thistle from across the way, but she only raised an eyebrow in response. She glanced up to Narani above, giving her a quick nod. Narani's shoulders rocked as she adjusted her stance, her tail wrapping around her middle to become more compact. She waited on the edge of the beam until the two were directly beneath her.

The air was barely disturbed as she pushed off and dropped.

A heartbeat passed before she landed on top of the guard to the left, tackling him down in much the same way as before. Limbs wrapped around the body in a flurry, a hand clapping over his mouth before dragging him to the ground. His partner had just enough time to turn before Allister and Zhull grabbed him from behind and pulled him into the shadows of the hall, where there was only a dull thud and the sound of a human weight falling over stone.

Thistle emerged from where she was hiding around the corner, drawing a dagger from her belt. Before Narani could put up a hand to stop her, she drove the hilt of it into the temple of the guard with a thud. The guard's eyes rolled back and the hallway was quiet again but for the gentle snores of the prisoners around them.

Zhull and Allister emerged from the shadows, laying some spears out in the hallway out of reach from the guards.

"I'll watch them. Get the grate open, I had some rope in my pack we can tie them down with," Zhull said. Thistle was reaching for the pick from Narani, but Allister plucked it from her grasp.

"I'll get this one," he said with a smile, moving down the hall to have a look. Thistle frowned, turning to Narani.

"It was too dangerous. We could have been caught."

"We did not get caught. So there is nothing to worry about."

"It was too much of a risk."

"Only if you believed there was a chance they would spot us. Which there was not."

"You can't possibly know that."

"Neither did you."

Thistle was about to retort, but there was the sound of a hinge from the far end of the hall as the armory door swung loose.

"Fetch your things so we can shove off, mates," he said in as loud a whisper as he could. Narani was gone before Thistle could stop her, rummaging through the space before emerging with a few side pouches and parcels tied on. Thistle thought she could see something moving across Narani's fur, but it was gone before she could get a good look. Allister returned with lengths of rope from Zhull's things they cinched the two guards together, leaving them near the back of the far hallway out of reach and out of sight.

Zhull dawned a a few pieces of beaten armor, reddish brown from ware with scrapes and scars all along the surface. One hand hefted a small shield, while the other rested over a longsword at the hip.

"Much better. Almost felt naked."

"Too right mate," said Allister. He had donned a dark long coat, a rapier at his hip. Narani spun a few daggers and placed them into sheaths beneath the bear-hide vest.

"What's that door there?" Zhull asked, pointing to the door by the armory.

"Warden's Office. Now that you have your things... what are you doing?" Thistle asked. Zhull didn't wait before he walked over and started poking around the outside of the door, investigating the lock that held it fast.

"I feel like we're owed a meeting. I'm curious to hear why I was arrested."

"I would also like to know," Narani said. Allister raised an eyebrow.

"Might have the arrest records in there. I'd be right interested to have those."

"Are all of you actually crazy?" Thistle said, hands on her hips. "I did not come all this way up here to have this job hijacked by the people I'm supposed to be letting out. And I'm not even supposed to be letting half of you out. I relented and freed you, but that doesn't involve going and picking a fight with the people that threw you in here. If you show your face, the game's up."

"Once we're out in the city we'll be harder to find," said Zhull. "Learned my lesson about what side of the city to be on. It should be fine. Should only take a minute." Allister, still holding on to the pick, began working on the lock. Before Thistle could get there to stop him, he had already jimmied it open.

"Close it now! We're not going in there!" she whispered, she managed to put a hand on Narani, but Allister had already pushed inside with Zhull behind him. Narani lifted Thistle's hand away and stepped inside.

"Then I'm keeping watch. You have two minutes or I'm leaving all of you," Thistle said as the door closed behind them.

Inside, the room was dimly lit but a sputtering fire in the hearth that took up most of one wall. The opposite wall was a collection of shelves containing parchments and papers and writs of various kinds, set in neat rows and columns. Allister made his way there and began to pick through the pieces, but stopped when there came a large sound from behind the desk at the back part of the room.

The writing desk was a dark mahogany of fine make, with a high backed chair behind. Lightly illuminated by the cackling fire was a pasty, portly man in fine clothes, a velvet hat pulled over his eyes. A small bit of lip pouted from beneath tufts of facial hair, his thick fingers interlaced over his shirt, the buttons of his shirt clinging desperately together to keep his large middle contained. His feet were kicked up on the desk toward the fire and he uttered another loud snore that seemed to shake the inside of the room.

Everyone in the room froze, but though the sound was loud, the man didn't appear to rouse. Allister quietly began to weed through the papers while Zhull stood at the front of the desk, leaning down so he could speak to Narani quietly.

"Maybe get behind him," he whispered. "When you got a hold on him, we can have a conversation." Narani nodded, rounding the desk. Her limbs reached around the back of the chair like an anxious spider before they gripped him wherever she could find a hold. She pulled him forcibly back against the chair and held him. As his eyes opened, there was a moment of panic before a hand clapped over his mouth.

Zhull put one boot up on the desk, drawing his longsword and letting the tip dig into the wood.

"Evening, Warden. Just had a couple of questions for you while we were on our way out this evening. Thing is, there's a ringing in my ears tonight. Probably from being in here too long. So if you could keep your voice down while we chat, I'd appreciate the thought." Zhull continued to twist his sword, drilling a deep gouge into the wood. "Do we have an understanding?"

Moments passed in silence before the Warden offered the slightest nod.

"Narani, let the man speak. He'll be all right. For his sake, at least." Narani took one hand away, but kept a tight grip on them, holding them to the chair.

"You will never get away with this," the Warden said evenly. His voice was gruff and their tone clipped, the face sinking back into the many chins. "Whatever you are on about here will not work. You'll be back in a cell before the night is out."

"Not likely, but I take your meaning. While we're on the subject, maybe you'd be willing to tell us why we were arrested in the first place. No one really bothered to make that clear to us while they were shoving us behind bars."

"For gross wrongdoings, I'd expect," replied the Warden. "But I would have to look at our records, if you would wish to know. Ow!" Narani flicked him in the side of the head with a long finger.

"You already know!"

"Shh, it's okay Narani. But you're right. There's not that many of us in here tonight. I suspect you know full well while we're in here."

The Warden's scowl deepened.

"You put too much confidence in my abilities. If you would only allow me to read through the files-"

"Not a chance." Zhull ground the tip of the longsword into the desk, pulling out a long sliver of wood. He raised the blade and leveled it at the Warden's throat with a tenuous ease. "You won't play us for fools. All we're asking for is some honesty and then we can part ways as friends. It's certainly better than the alternative."

Sweat was starting to bead the top of the Warden's head. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I? Who can say, what with us wrongdoers? Or you can just tell us."

Seconds passed with only the sound of the fire crackling away in the hearth until the Warden sighed.

"All of you, minus Allister over there - yes I recognize you - were brought in for suspicious activity unbecoming citizens of the empire."

"What in the world does that mean? And why not Allister?" Zhull asked. Outside, there was the faint, annoyed tapping on the door. The Warden glanced passed them.

"Who is that?"

Zhull pressed the tip of the sword to the Warden's throat. "None of your concern. What do you mean by suspicious activity?"

"A certain Zhull Blackhand was brought in for disturbing the peace. A fight in a tavern, I was told."

"Well, sure that did happen," Zhull admitted. "But I didn't start it. Someone picked a fight with me and I finished it. I definitely don't remember seeing the guy who started it brought in here with me. The guards were only interested in me."

"Your other cohort," the Warden continued, "a certain Narani of the Something-or-Other tribe, was brought in for not having the proper identification to enter the city."

"There was paperwork?" the two of them asked in unison.

"Indeed. And if neither of you have it, then neither of you should presently be in Biharbor." The Warden's tone was still clipped, yet his eyes remained fixed on the point of Zhull's sword.

"I'm no lawman, but both of those seem like stretches to me," said Zhull. "And what about Allister?"

"Arrested for smuggling. Illegally entering the Lakehelm port under a pseudonymous ship name and reporting false cargo, which includes: tariffed fruits, counterfeit coin, unreported armaments, and a selection of rare and exotic birds, for the purposes of selling and profiting. That's the one," Allister said. He turned from the shelves holding a sheet of parchment he had been reading triumphantly.

Zhull frowned at the list.

"Is all of that true?" he asked. Allister cocked an affronted eyebrow.

"Of course not! The details are only meant to obscure the truth! I would never move counterfeit coins if they were just going to be found with the cargo. Only amateurs do that!"

"So the fruits? The birds?"

"Are you going to kill me now?" asked the Warden. "Or are you returning to your cells, now that your curiosities have been satisfied. Either way, you're all going back to your cells. With extended sentences for whatever happens here."

"We'll see you on the other side. Narani, if you would?" Zhull asked. Before the Warden could retort, Narani reeled back and delivered a short blow to the side of the man's large heard with two strong knuckles. The Warden slumped back into the chair, head lolling to the side, incapacitated.

They creaked the door open quietly to peak out into the hallway. There was no one in sight, including Thistle as they emerged, Zhull's head turning around.

"Thistle?" The only answer was a sharp slap on his arm as Thistle stepped from the shadows from the other side of the door.

"Ow!"

"Shut it! You're lucky I didn't leave all of you!" she whispered, her glare ever furious. "Down another flight of stairs and we're out." Without waiting, Thistle stalked away toward the end of the hallway to the next flight of stairs, the others left to follow in her wake.


	2. The Azure Tower

The second floor was abandoned except for them as they descended. There were no prisoners currently interred, and thus no guards to watch the floor. The cell blocks above them had been entirely sealed in stone, but the second-floor hallways had two portholes at the end of each hallway. Both sides had bars, but one of the sets of the bars had been worked loose and pulled away from the stone on the outside, the stone cracked around it.

"Did you do that?" Allister asked.

"You owe me. It took me an hour hanging from a line to pry that free," Thistle bit out, making her way to the opening. "Watch the door," she commanded Zhull as she set about removing the glass. Rather than follow her instruction, he peaked over her shoulder to glance out the little window.

It overlooked a small alleyway below, if it could be called that, with just enough space for one person between the prison and the next building, what Zhull assumed to be the Lakehelm barracks. It was difficult to see further out of the alley, but there was some faint light coming from the other end that lead out in front of the prison, to the courtyard that surrounded the prison and the gate beyond. The porthole itself was very small, enough so where one might assume it was impossible for someone to fit through. Someone as slender as Thistle could manage it easily - same with Narani. Allister would have to squeeze, but he could do it with some thin thoughts and a held breath.

Zhull was not as sure.

"We're leaving through there?" asked Zhull, looking a little sheepish.

"That's what I said. Didn't you hear..." Thistle said, her voice trailing off. She looked back, eyes trailing up and down Zhull's larger frame. Realization dawned on her face in a fresh wave of annoyance.

"You'll have to leave the armor."

"I don't have to do anything."

"You won't fit otherwise."

"I'm not planning on staying, but I'm not leaving the armor." Zhull said, face sterner than Thistle had yet seen it. She ground her teeth, lower jaw working like she was chewing her own growing anger.

"You can't have both," she said, her tone dangerously low. "Either you stay, or the armor does. Either way, I'm not waiting for your indecision."

"There has to be another way out."

"There isn't. I would know."

"Front door?" Narani chimed in.

"Absolutely not!" Thistle whispered. Zhull shrugged, making his way toward the door to the stairwell, ignoring Thistle's protests as he opened it and began to make his way down.

The stairwell twisted down before stopping at another door, which Zhull gently opened with the keys on the ring. He cracked it just enough to see out. The stairs continued down for a few more turns before stopping at ground level. There were no cells on this level, only doors to rooms and an open space. The night's watchmen mingled about, around ten in number. Claws clicked on the stone as a few hounds sniffed into view, muscled bodies pulling tight against their handler's leashes. All was set before a large pair of iron doors, locked from the inside with a large iron rod set across the back.

At the sound of the door opened, one of the dog's ears perked up with a growl. Its handler looked about, Zhull closing the door quietly just as they looked toward the stair. He relocked the door as quietly as he could before heading back up as Thistle finished setting the glass down on the stone.

"Satisfied?" she asked, not looking up.

"I can make it through."

"No, you can't."

"Ten gold says I can."

"A terrible bet. I'll never collect it because you'll be stuck here. If you insist, then you're going last," Thistle said. As she finished, she fastened a line to one of the bars still attached to the stone on the outside of the porthole, letting the line fall to the alley below. Narani hopped onto the ledge and tugged to test its strength before starting her descent, hand over hand. She slipped once but managed to make it down without further issue. Allister followed, then Thistle. She gave Zhull a pitying look before moving down, her shadow drifting to the end of the alley. Zhull sighed, stepping onto the ledge.

It wasn't just about getting out of the window, which was its own challenge. There was no ledge on the other side of the porthole. He had to come out oriented properly or tumble a story down to the alley below, either killing him, or making enough noise in his armor to bring the guards running. Carefully, he imagined himself squeezing through, making himself as compact as possible as he began to wiggle through.

Immediately, the armor caught on the stone. The more he moved, the more he scraped and scratched the armor, wincing with each noise. There was progress, but it was painfully slow. Below, Narani and Allister were watching, heads going back and forth between the end of the alley and their escape, and leaving Zhull behind, stuck above them mid-escape.

After a solid minute, he managed to extricate his arms through to the other side. He had moved back just enough to remove his pauldrons before trying again. Those he could replace, but he wasn't leaving without the breastplate. As he put hands on the sides of the window from the outside and began to push, he could hear sounds coming from inside. Keys rattled in a lock and a door opened, followed by the sound of claws and boots on the stair, rising to meet them. With renewed vigor, he continued to wiggle, bits of stone and dust tumbling to the alley below.

"Just leave the armor, Zhull!" Narani called up to him in the loudest whisper they could. Zhull didn't respond, just pushing that much harder, feeling the armor bending around him, pinching painfully in the places it couldn't fit through.

Just as he heard keys start to work the lock to the door on their level, he gave a final shove. With a grunt of exertion, the plate pinched and pushed all the way through. He reached out and caught the line just in time as he started to fall backward, hands burning as he slid a few feet down the rope. A few moments passed, but no head emerged from the window. Wincing, Zhull slowly lowered himself down to the ground. He brushed himself off, hands gripping the edge of the armor. Arms straining, he pulled the pinched pieces of the armor apart as much as he could. He would need tools to repair the rest, but he could at least move. Thistle didn't even look over her shoulder as they moved together to the end of the alley to look out together.

A wide stone courtyard separated them from the gates beyond. There was no cover for at least a hundred feet. Above them, beams of light trailed across the ground from towers set along the perimeter of the fifteen-foot-high grates that surrounded the compound. Even if they didn't enter the spotlight itself, there was a fair chance they would be seen just through the ambient light.

"We have to make a break for it." Zhull said.

"We'll never make it. This was supposed to be a two-person exit. Narani would have been fine to come, but you'll draw them like a mirror with that armor. I told you to leave it."

"That's not happening. If we run, we'll make it."

"And what about after that? They'll be right on top of us. And we still have to clear the fence."

"I have an idea." Narani proclaimed. Her tone was light, but serious as she turned from them without another word. There was no time to stop her before she took hold of the line and made her way back up to the second story, reentering the porthole.

Moments passed in impenetrable silence before they heard something akin to a monkey screeching followed by the sound of boots and the barking of dogs. A thin shadow emerged from the porthole and repelled down the line again, dropping halfway down like Zhull, but landing with far more confidence. Narani made her way to the front of the alley, pointing to the courtyard.

"Now is our chance! Move now!" she called. A helmeted head emerged from the window.

"You there! Halt!"

"Go!" Zhull called, sprinting out of cover and onto the courtyard. The others followed, all of them breaking for the railing on the other side. Behind them, bells began to sound, as well as shouts from various men. They were halfway across the courtyard when the first arrow bounced off the stone near Allister's feet. The iron doors were opening behind them and they put on another burst of speed, hearts pounding as they reached the railing. Zhull and Allister took hold of the iron bars, doing their best to pull themselves up. Beside them, Thistle and Narani were already well on their way, climbing and perching at the top as guards began to make their way across the courtyard. Arrows began to fly over their heads, bouncing off the stones near them. Perched atop the railing, Thistle drew her own bow and fired back, causing a few of the guards to duck and run.

Zhull's grip continued to slip on the bars until finally, he cursed in Orcish and turned to face the approaching guards, drawing his sword.

"Go on ahead! We'll find another way out!" he called over his shoulder. Allister's head whipped around in confusion.

"What are we doing?"

"Fighting our way out!"

"That is quite enough." There was another voice, sourceless, yet suddenly omnipresent. Zhull's head whipped around to see both Thistle and Narani slowly floating to the ground on their side of the railing. Both were struggling, seemingly against some invisible bind that held them before it deposited them both on the stone.

The guards had also seemingly heard the voice. It was older than all of them and though it wasn't a shout, it was loud and rang with a calm authority of someone of advanced age. The front gates to the compound opened, a figure walking through and making their way toward them. Even with eyes that were more adept at seeing in the dark, it took him stepping into the spotlight for Thistle, Zhull, and Narani to make out who the voice belonged to.

A dragonborn stood before them, golden scales sparkling warmly against the flickering spotlight. He was adorned in blue and white robes, a staff clutched in his claws, a polished sapphire resting in the head. Along the sides of his snout, four long tentacles dangled down, like a mustache grown far out of proportion. His eyes were discerning but not hostile, golden as his scales. There was a slight hunch to his back, but he was still taller than the tallest of the soldiers by half a foot.

"I believe that's quite enough excitement for one evening, wouldn't you all agree?" he said. He spoke slowly, his voice deep and airy with carefully chosen words, each pronounced with precision. Around him, the guards gave a quick bow of their heads.

"This is a surprise, Enlightened. Thank you for helping us apprehend these escapees," said one, his armor more adorned than the rest.

"Of course, but I wouldn't thank me yet, Captain. These escapees, as you call them, shall be coming with me."

Each of the group surrounding the dragonborn gave their own variation of incredulity, everyone speaking over each other. The dragonborn held up a clawed hand and the crowd fell quiet again.

"Enlightened," the Captain said, stepping in front of the dragonborn, "with all due respect, we can't let them leave. They've just escaped from the Iron Ward. Justice must be served."

"And it shall be," said the Dragonborn, unhurried by the growing unrest of the crowd. "I will see to it personally. You have my word. These fine individuals have been summoned at the behest of the Prime Mistress. I am afraid my hands are tied."

"But... sir..."

"Unless you would like to explain to her yourself why she was denied?"

"I'm afraid she has no jurisdiction here, Enlightened."

"Well I do. They will be leaving with me, under my careful supervision."

"Sir, they were just in the middle of starting a fight. It's not safe-"

"I think I can determine that for myself, Captain, though your concern is dually noted. Now, if there's nothing else, we really must be going. The night is getting on. I shall be by to speak with the Warden in the morning."

There was a pregnant pause as the guards waited for the Captain to retort again. Six whole heartbeats passed before the Captain bowed his head slightly, taking a step back.

"I'll inform the Warden. By your leave then, Enlightened."

"Thank you. If you would all follow me, I will be happy to answer your questions," said the Dragonborn, giving a reptilian smile to the escapees as he turned and began to head for the gate again.

"We're just supposed to follow without knowing who you are?" Zhull asked.

"How can we trust you?" added Thistle.

"If you don't, feel free to speak to the Captain about accommodations for the evening. I'll return for you in the morning. I'm sure it will be a long night, but it's your choice how you spend it," the Dragonborn replied, not breaking stride. The group looked to each other for a few moments, then put their various weapons away and began to follow in a small procession out of the compound and into the night.

By now, many of the streets of Lakehelm were empty. There were a few corners where people stood: two young lovers in a late-night rendezvous under a streetlamp, a man slipping some coin to someone in a dark cloak, a couple possibly walking home for the evening. Still, the streets were hushed in an impenetrable quiet as they made their way from one side of town to the other. The windows of the various homes were lit, casting the cream-colored houses in flickering yellows with deep, impenetrable shadows in the places between. They curved their way around Lakehelm, approaching the sound of rushing water.

The Dragonborn remained a few paces ahead of them, claws clicking on wood as they began to make their way across a bridge, water moving beneath them out to the lake. At the center of the bridge was a break where the bridge could be split and raised, with a guardhouse posted on either side. A woman with pointed ears barred the way in front of them but stepped aside as they recognized the Dragonbron approaching. They gave a small bow.

"Enlightened."

"Thank you. They're with me." The woman eyed them all but made no move to stop them. The passed through an erected gate that separated the two sides of the bridge from each other, passing by another half orc on the other side and on to Antorac.

Immediately, the cityscape around them transformed. Where there had been neat and organized houses and streets before now became a chaotic mismatch of homes tumbling against each other. On the Lakehelm side of town, the houses and buildings had mainly ranged from shades of white to cream and gray, with splashes of color for highlights along rooftops and edgings. In Antorac, the homes were all the colors of the spectrum, in all shades, many homes containing multitudes of paints and designs, with flags or other things hanging from the porches and roofs. Though it was later in the evening, walking passed the first few homesteads brought with it the sounds of a town still very much awake. People still mingled on stoops and outside front doors, conversing and shouting to one another as they passed. People were still coming home, even later, but no doors seemed fully closed to someone seeking a conversation. Some waved as the Dragonborn passed, and where Zhull had thought that he could feel something staring into the back of his neck all along the way out of Lakehelm, people seemed to pay him little mind here.

And so many people! And from all different walks of life. They were short and tall, thick and thin, dark and fair, men, women, both, neither. There were tails and horns and even wings in some places - tieflings and dragonborn and half orcs and gnomes and halflings and so many more that seem to mingle freely with each other.

With the sound of voices around them, Zhull seemed to relax, slowing his pace a little to fall in line with Thistle.

"Do you know this guy?"

Thistle frowned and shook her head. "I know his title and that he works with the Azure Tower and the College, but not his name."

"All will be explained in time," replied the Dragonborn, "you have my word. But better not to talk about it here. I have accommodations where we may converse more privately."

Zhull nodded, head turning a few different directions. "Are Narani and Allister not coming?" he asked.

"What?" Thistle had been scanning the alleys and shadows as usual, but hadn't felt the need to look behind her. Now she turned to find they were the only three following the Dragonborn. Allister and Narani were just gone. Thistle ground her teeth again, her hands curling into fists.

"That slimy little..." The rest of her curses were murmured under her breath in Elvish, with continued unabated until they approached the center of Antorac. Here, the buildings began to scale upward in elevation and status, growing larger and more affluent as they climbed their way along curving streets, nearing the center of town, the city falling away around them down toward Senai Lake. When they reached a portcullis, the Enlightened had only to wave his hand and the guards let them through, raising the gate and then shutting it behind them. Walled off in the center of town were the homes of legislators and nobility, with sprawling gardens and verdant parks dotted with colorful flowers and other plant life. Still they ascended toward a tower stacked with blue stones and bricks placed just so in a precise orientation, rising above them until it was difficult to discern the top. The base was massively wide, with large steps that led to a pair of bronze double doors. Young people of various backgrounds mingled on the stairs and around the doors even at this late hour, all dressed in similar blue and ivory robes, though not as ornate as the Dragonborn's.

As he passed, people bowed and seemed to pay him the deepest respects, a pair of students opening the doors for him as they approached, with a sprawling darkness beyond the threshold.

"Almost there, I appreciate your patience. I assure you it will be worth it. Join me inside. And watch your step." He made his way inside. Zhull followed, Thistle a step behind, still not completely sure she was actually going to follow until she was stepping over the threshold.

Just as she made up her mind to turn back and leave them all behind, she stepped into a massive chamber, with a ceiling that rose hundreds of feet above her. All around were rows and seats and tables of an enormous study hall. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with shelves packed to the gills with books and scrolls of all shapes and sizes. Walkways and paths criss-crossed above them, shifting and changing as students made their way from one side of the hall to another, speaking quietly with each other as they debated some topic or another.

The Enlightened stopped and looked around, a small smile curling his snout.

"Welcome to the Azure Tower, home to the College of Senai. If you'll follow me to my chambers, I believe you'll find them comfortable." Zhull's head whipped from one side to the other, mouth agape in wonder. Thistle had to remind herself to close her mouth, fighting a growing sense of vertigo. Even with the size of the tower, there was no way something this spacious could fit on the inside - the proportions were all wrong. Whatever this place, it was bigger on the inside.

The Enlightened continued, making his way through the stacks and passed bowing students until he came to a gathering of gilded cages, large enough for a few people to fit inside, gathered around in a small grouping. He waited as one of the cages opened and a few students stepped out before climbing inside and holding the cage door open. Zhull and Thistle both entered with some trepidation, but the door only closed loosely behind them, seemingly holding shut on its own.

"I would hold on, if I were you," advised the Enlightened, claws wrapping through one of the filigree bars. Zhull and Thistle did the same just as they felt something shift. The cage began to move, though they could see no connection thread or other line or pulley that would make it so. They floated steadily through the air, rising and then gliding along passed other cages carrying students and other books, rising higher and higher through the tower and the many levels of the study hall. Around them were offshoots and hallways to other classrooms, on some levels, floating forums held entire groups of students in orientation hundreds of feet above the main level, hovering around as entire classrooms met and debated together. Constantly there were flashes, buzzing, and even small explosions as students drew arcane symbols in chalk or through the air itself.

"What are they studying" asked Zhull, unable to look away from the display despite his growing motion sickness.

"Magic. Here they learn the fundamentals while debating its secrets. We specialize in the arcane arts and sorcery, as opposed to natural and patron-based magics."

"Who are you really?" asked Thistle, turning to face him. "We know you're some Enlightened or whatever, but what does that mean?"

"That I hold the highest rank this institution can bestow," he responded. In the face of Thistle's scowl, he remained cool, still wearing his same soft smile. "My name is Solomis Goldscale. I'm the Dean of the College of Senai."

Before they could ask anything further, the lift came to a stop on a floating platform, with only a small door in front of them that didn't seem to lead anywhere other than open air. They gingerly stepped out, Zhull hazarding a look over the chest-high edge of the little platform. The main chamber almost disappeared below them. He might be able to catch himself on one of the classroom platforms floating around the chamber should he fall. If he missed, however, it would mean several long minutes of falling before a very abrupt death.

"Mind your step. My chambers are through here," said Solomis. He pushed open the door and held it for Zhull and Thistle as they made their way through. There was the sensation of missing a step on a staircase, but the two stumbled and caught themselves not plummeting out the other side of the door, as they feared, but in a modest stone hallway about ten feet tall, a red rug laid out underfoot. Solomis continued to talk, hands held behind his back, staff under one arm. At the far end of the hallway, stairs led up and out of sight. Solomis placed the butt of his staff on the first step and began to climb, forcing Zhull and Thistle to follow. All three of them exited out of the hallway when the ceiling pulled away to open air. Around them were other hallways and passages, floating in an incongruent matrix of steps and connections that neither of them could follow. At the top of these ascending stairs was a door, emblazoned with a golden dragon, wings outstretched, claws clutching blue and green orbs. When Solomis's hand touched the door, Zhull and Thistle could hear a deadbolt slide away and the door opened for them.

Solomis's chambers followed the same kind of architecture as the rest of the building - with alien proportions and varying colors. The ceiling rose above them far out of sight, with more shelves and books and scrolls tumbling out and over each other in every corner of the workspace. Just in front of them was a workstation containing several alchemical and arcane equipment of shapes and sizes neither of them could really dream of, along with a wide, dark wood desk, polished to a sheen. Papers and other baubles lay over everything in a mismatch. Below them, the rug was an intricately woven star chart that Zhull could swear was moving ever so slightly as they stepped over it. Zhull took a place near the center of the room while Thistle crossed her arms, leaning on one side of the door.

"All right. What is it you want?" Thistle asked. Zhull frowned and turned to look at her.

"That's a little disrespectful, don't you think? He saved us from a pretty bad situation back there."

"Only because he wants something from us, otherwise he wouldn't have bothered," Thistle replied. Her scowl had been replaced with a cool, calculating mask, though her mouth seemed to be almost permanently set into a frown, even a small one.

For his part, Solomis didn't shy away from her piercing stare. He returned it with a calm ease that only seemed to make Thistle more tense.

"Very shrewd of you, my dear. And correct. But first, I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine. If you would?" he asked. From a small alcove off to the side of his main chamber, another figure emerged, tall with skin that caught the light.

Not skin... scales! Another dragonborn made their way from the reading nook, their clothes modest in color and style. Rather than gold, this dragonborn was white, taller than everyone else in the room. The snout was shorter than Solomis's, the scales more lustrous, like polished opals. The build was slender, though a bit wider around the waist, they could both guess she was a lady. Her eyes were a light blue, kind and gentle, her hands folded in front of her in reserve. She had a short tail and where Solomis had frills that rose above his head and down his neck, she had a row of horns, where the color faded from white to a sheet black at the tips. She wore the modest attire of a churchgoer, along with a tabard showing a pair of gold scales on a black field, silver trim around the edges.

"Hello, everyone," she said in a soft voice, raising a clawed hand in a small wave. "My name is Ibuun Ummeric. It's a pleasure to meet you both." Zhull blinked and returned the wave with a smile.

"Oh... hey. I'm Zhull Blackhand. And this is-"

"Jennifer," Thistle said tersely, her face revealing nothing.

"It's nice to meet you both," said Ibuun. Zhull cocked his head to the side.

"But... wait..."

"It's Jennifer, remember? I know you're a little slow on the uptake, but I hoped you'd at least remember my name," she chided, one eyebrow barely raised above the other. Solomis smiled, leaning forward placing his hands on the desk where he sat.

"I already know your name, Thistle. There won't be any need for that." Thistle pressed her back as far against the wall as she could, her scowl returning full force.

"How do you know that?"

"For much the same reason as to why you're here. I apologize, but I've been observing your exploits with curiosity, and great pleasure," Solomis replied. He reached out a hand as an object on the desk slid across the surface into his grip - a crystal ball. He muttered a phrase over it in Draconic, a guttural tongue of growls and hisses, and waved a hand over it before a light emanated from within. Where once they had been able to see all the way through the crystal, there was now the small image of the Warden's office. The portly man sat nearer the fire, surrounded by a contingent of guards. Some sound was audible from inside, though the voices sounded small and distant. After a moment, the image faded away.

"You were spying on us." Thistle stated.

"The Iron Ward is always under remote surveillance, should what you attempted tonight ever come to pass. Henceforth, no escape attempt has ever been successful. The record holds true, but I happened to be sitting in on those scrying on the interior, where I watched your exploits with great interest. In that same outing, I also obtained a copy of your arrest records." Solomis snapped a finger, and a few sheets of thick paper from the pile pulled themselves free, spreading out in front of him. "I have to say, the records are a little light on what you were in for, though there are a few things of interest, I suppose."

"We didn't do anything," said Zhull, his easy-going smile replaced with a stern scowl to match Thistle's. "They picked us up because they didn't like the look of us."

"I believe your correct in that assumption, Mr. Blackhand. It's not right, but such is the world we live in today. You couldn't have known, but you were on the... more difficult side of town."

"You mean the racist side."

Solomis nodded his ascent. "How much do you know about Biharbor since coming here?"

"Not much. I traveled alone. No one on the road felt like swapping stories when I asked them. I came in on the Southeast side and tried to find a place to stay," explained Zhull.

"What about the Empire and the Concord?"

"That I'm a more familiar with," Zhull said, eyes wandering around the room.

"Biharbor is as product of that conflict," Solomis explained. "A century ago, this entire city was simply Antorac, controlled only by the Juzari Concord to the west. When the previous Emperor of Ecoa was still expanding his control westward, he deigned to take Antorac for the Empire, threatening the city. After the breaking of the war that was brewing, the Valiant bartered a peace between the two factions. Rather than hand over control of the port city to the Empire, they split the city in two: Lakehelm and Antorac, which make up the whole of Biharbor."

"The Valiant, Master Goldscale?" Ibuun asked. It had been the first time she had spoken during their conversation, and her voice was only barely audible despite her stature. "I wasn't sure they were real."

"They were as real as you or I," said Solomis, leaning back in his chair. "And they stopped a war from breaking out by defeating a powerful foe."

"Much obliged for the history lesson," Thistle interjected, "but may we please get on with it? What is this about?" Her heels were bouncing against the wall, finger tapping a march into her arm. For her impatience, Solomis seemed unperturbed.

"I was about to get to that. I have been observing various places and asking around for a capable group of adventurers to hire for a very specific task I need completed. A group that values discretion, perhaps above all else."

"You helped us get out of prison to give us a job?" Zhull asked.

"Correct. As I said, I was observing your antics. Rough around the edges, but with more cohesion than others I've thought to hire in the past. I'm aware all of you in this room have just met, but there is something afoot to the west, and I believe you here, and perhaps one more, are just the people for the job.

"If you do this," Solomis continued, cutting Thistle off before she could protest, "you will be doing a great service for the Juzari Concord, whom I answer to. Furthermore, should you agree to help, I will see personally to it that your names are cleared in Biharbor by the time you've returned. As I said, I would be hiring you as well. There may be a substantial reward in it for you, should you succeed."

"What's the job?" Thistle asked, causing Zhull to jump. She had abandoned her spot by the door and made her way to where Zhull was standing closer to the desk. Yet he hadn't heard her move at all, suddenly she was just... there.

Solomis smiled that same serene smile, then pulled out a roll of parchment that he spread out on his desk, beckoning the others to gather round. Ibuun stood by Zhull, giving him a polite nod before peering over his around his shoulder to see. The parchment roll appeared to be a large map of the surrounding countryside.

"We're here," Solomis said, pointing to the city where it lay just beside the massive Senai Lake. "A few days travel east of here, my sources claimed they unearthed something strange while excavating for a new mining operation, over here near the center of Tevari Wood." His claw landed deep in the heart of a forest, with only a few towns within a few days travel of the area.

"What counts for strange?" asked Zhull.

"Ruins, apparently."

"And... um, how is that odd?" asked Ibuun. "There are plenty of ruins around. Is there something special about this one?"

"There is a fair amount of ruins around from old Juzari, it's true. But those are the ones we know about, and they've already been explored and mapped out extensively. By our estimation, based on older maps of the area going back several generations, there should be little enough left to discover. The ruin that was discovered, however, matches no known previous settlement. It's uncharted on any of our older maps of the area and no mention of it is made in any of the numerous records I've read through to try and discern what it was. It's a bit of a mystery."

"And you'd like us to, what? Explore it for you?" Thistle asked, arms crossed.

"In short, yes. Though there is one catch. You're not the first team I've sent there. As soon as I was made aware of the discovery, I dispatched a excavation crew of fourteen dwarves, who were better outfitted to explore the dig site. That was a fortnight ago. As of today, only one has returned."

Ibuun clasped her clawed hands in front of her. "What happened?"

"We're really not sure, I'm afraid. The only member of the team to returned was found wandering the forest far from the supposed site, half mad and rambling about something dwelling in the ruins below. It's been a very messy situation."

"So there's a good chance it's dangerous?" Zhull asked.

"I'm afraid so. Whatever was down there was shocking enough to frighten a relatively young dwarf to near incoherence. And he and his team were armed for combat. For all of them not to return is an ill omen indeed."

"Master Solomis, if this mission is important enough for these... extreme measures, why do it in secret? You could hire another team to retrieve the other. Or ask Lakehelm and the empire for help," asked Ibuun.

Solomis shook his head. "Ah, you see, Ibuun, that is the entire problem. Understand, the ruins are indeed on the Empire side of the border, but I would appreciate it if I were able to get a team there first that I can trust."

"And why's that?" asked Thistle.

"Because if they get there first, we'll never learn anything about it. The Empire will surely cover it up, taking all the useful or powerful information for themselves, without sharing any of it. For something to have been hidden for that long without being discovered, there must be good reason. With tensions as they are between the Empire and the Concord, any advantage the Empire gains that might give them any kind of tactical or military advantage must be curtailed.

"And honestly," he continued, "I'm curious. For something to have gone undiscovered for so long... something else must be at work. Thus, you are being hired for your skillset as well as your secrecy. No one else is to know the nature of your mission unless absolutely necessary. Thus far, the have yet to discover what's there, but it's only a matter of time. Get there first and find what you will make a powerful friend of the Concord as well as its collectives."

Thistle pushed passed Zhull to place both her hands on the desk. "And what constitutes a substantial reward?"

"Does it really matter what it is? People need our help and you'll be getting paid," said Zhull behind her. Thistle looked over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

"You haven't done this very much, have you?"

"I've done plenty of jobs for people."

"If that's how you conduct business, then all of them have been taking advantage of you. What's the job? What are the risks? What's the reward? This is elementary for knowing how much your skin is worth."

Zhull seemed as though he was about to say something, but he stopped when he heard Solomis chuckle. Thistle turned back, her face more annoyed than before, as though insulted that he dare find her line of questioning anything other than terrifying.

"You are indeed a discerning businesswoman," he said, one claw twirling an errant tentacle. "Your reward will be coming out of our coffers. The College is prepared to offer your group one thousand gold pieces in sum for services rendered. Archaeological costs. Return with as many of the original excavation team as you can find and learn whatever you can of the character of the ruin, whilst keeping these activities to yourselves, and the reward is yours."

"No deal," Thistle said, without missing a beat. Solomis blinked. Zhull and Ibuun both did a double take.

"No deal?! That's more wealth than I've seen in my whole life!" Zhull protested. "If you're really so shrewd, or whatever, how can you turn that down?"

"No point in taking a job offering a bunch of gold if you're never going to spend it. I could do half that work for half of the pay and still make enough to get by and then some. That amount of gold isn't worth my life."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Solomis. He didn't appear insulted, more compassionate, which Thistle appeared to take with even more consternation than had he been upset.

"Find someone else willing to throw their life away for some dusty old ruin," she said. "I'm sure you fool someone else into taking it on."

"It will have to be someone with your skill set, but I suppose we will make do," Solomis replied.

"Don't patronize me, old man!" she said, turning from the desk and walking silently toward the door. "This has been a very aggravating night and I already have a reward to collect, no thanks to any of you."

"You can have my cut."

Eyes turned to Ibuun, who was standing beside Solomis, looking resolute. Thistle had just about made it to the door before she turned around, one eyebrow arched with barely concealed interest.

"Excuse me?"

"If you take this job and come with us," Ibuun said, "I will give you my cut. If there are four of us, that means two hundred and fifty gold for each of us. That plus mine, you would be walking away with half of that reward on your own. Can you pass up five hundred gold for one little job?" she asked. Eyes turned from Ibuun back to Thistle, and back again. Thistle watched Ibuun carefully, eyes narrow, then turned away to stare at the floor for a few more heartbeats.

Finally, she removed her hand from the door handle.

"All right," she said quietly, "keep talking."


	3. The Cistern

"I was at the far end of the hall and Narani was up above," Zhull was saying. "Thistle was still behind us, and then she started waving her hand and made something appear. Like it came out of the shadows, like a ghost! And the two guys- I mean, I know they're supposed to be guards, right? They let it get to them and they let their guard down, we had just enough time to get in there and get our gear."

They were walking together, Zhull and Ibuun, through the quiet streets of Antorac, away from the Azure Tower. It was late now, near midnight. They had spent a little more time with Solomis in his study, talking about the particulars of their mission and where they might meet the following day.

"The east gate, on the Lakehelm side," Thistle had said, her impatience growing. "I'll meet you there midmorning. On foot, we'll make it to Colomon Fields by sunset, if we don't dawdle."

"Perhaps I have kept you too long this evening. Forgive the meanderings of an old man. You all should retire and get your rest for the journey ahead." Solomis had risen from his seat, making his way to the door with Ibuun in toe, watching his steps carefully in case he needed to support him.

Zhull frowned. "So... we should be staying on the Antorac side of town then? If we're looking for a place to stay?" Solomis nodded.

"Quite so, if you want to avoid a repeat of tonight. I don't think they should be bothering you again anyway, after what happened, but better to be on the safe side. Head to the Silverfin Tavern, by the river. Ask for Nico and tell him I sent you. He should be able to find you rooms for the evening. Tell him I said hello." With that, Solomis had led them out of the Azure tower, down the winding, dizzying pathways inside the college until they returned to the front double doors, opening the way back out to the night.

"A pleasant evening to you both," Solomis said before closing the doors behind them.

Zhull drew a long breath of fresh air and sighed.

"I admit, tonight didn't go as I expected. I guess I should say thanks Thistle... where did she go?" She had been there as they had exited the tower, Zhull knew, having watched her following behind them. There was a moment when they exited the tower, but by the time he looked around to thank her, she was gone.

"She really is something," Zhull continued, Ibuun walking alongside, listening. "I really don't know anything about magic, so maybe it's not a big deal what she did, but I thought it was. I've just never seen it up close before like that. And then to just be... gone? I'll have to remember to thank her tomorrow, if she comes."

"She said that she would," Ibuun remarked, frowning, claws clicking on the flagstones as they walked. She didn't so much have shoes as she did wraps around her feet, her claws free to touch the stones.

"The kind of person that knows how to do what she can may not be as true to her words as we think. I hope she's there, but there's no guarantee until then. Is this it?" They arrived at a smaller house, just on the banks of the river that acted as a natural boundary between the two different towns. And it was a house, at least from the front, though there appeared to be several additions to the house haphazardly attached in the places they fit. Pains had been taken to hide these renovations - nails and boards and coats of paint - which perhaps achieved the opposite effect of making them more visible. A balcony had been added to the second story where perhaps there didn't need to be one, with pillars that had been built to hold it up that framed the front door. The back of the house ran straight to the river, where another door had been added and ramp led down to an uneven dock where a few small boats were moored beneath a wooden awning. The entire wall of the side of the house had been removed on the first story to make room for the building directly adjacent, which had been added to the first house with a hastily built pseudo-hallway that connected the two. Above the front door, a sign swung that showed a fish leaping over rapids.

The two of them went inside.

All of the things that seemed not to work on the outside miraculously appeared cohesive within. Where the exterior appeared stitched together, the inside was painstakingly planned to provide a seamless experience. The front doors led immediately to a staircase that led to the upper level. To the left, a sitting room was bedecked with several soft looking chairs and sofas - places for people to kick their feet up in soft comfort. To the right, a small antechamber barred the way to the rest of a tavern. The door was open, and there appeared to be tables and chairs set up, along with an artfully constructed bar that dominated most of the far wall. At the foot of the stairs was a small podium where a host might stand to greet people, but the place seemed more or less abandoned at such a late hour. Though clearly there were colorful rugs, cushions, and curtains, the lack of light through long shadows throughout the tavern.

"Hello?" Zhull asked to the darkness. "We're here about some lodgings?" For a long time there was no response.

Zhull was about to say something again when he saw a little silver bell on the podium, which he rang with a soft, light tone that seemed almost abrasive in the hush.

A door upstairs opened, and there were some hushed tones before soft footsteps began to descend the stairs. The one candle on the podium seemed to ignite on its own, casting a faint bit of light as the figure came into view.

It appeared to be an elf, dressed in colorful, lavish looking silks, patterns all around the shoulders and back that wrapped the figure like a robe. They were tall and very pale, nearly while, with silver white hair that was carefully combed to one side, tapering down darker until it became a bluish purple, as though dyed. Their age was indeterminate in the way that some elves are when occupying something around middle age - he could have been very young or fairly old, with nary a wrinkle or blemish to betray him. Though it was late, they were covered in many different kinds of jewelry, all equally as silver as the bell: polished necklaces, glittering earrings, shiny rings with stones on every finger. Their step was light, expression cheerful, despite the late hour.

"OH hello," he said, his tone light, almost playful. He stood behind the podium and leaned over it, gray eyes flitting over them with interest. "Someone said something about lodging? Two? And a single bed? Say no more."

"What?" asked Zhull.

"No no no!" corrected Ibuun, voice a little loud in the relative quiet. The elf raised an eyebrow, a little smile at the corner of his lips. Ibuun cleared her throat.

"Um... no. Two rooms, actually. We were, um, sent by Solomis, told to ask for Nico. He says hello." The elf's eyes widened with his smile.

"You found me!" he grinned. "I'm Nicondras. My friends call me Nico. My lovers just call me... Oooh~." Nico seemed to take great delight in the bluish flush that spread over Ibuun's relatively small cheeks, hard as it is for dragonborn to blush. If Zhull was off-put by this, he didn't show it. There was a knock from upstairs and Nico held up a finger and turned back.

"Coming, darling. I apologize, I was a little preoccupied. I hope you weren't waiting here long. Ten silver for the rooms - a friendly discount. If you see Solomis, tell him to come by sometime. It's been ages. Tell him Nico misses him." Nico took five from each of them and handed them two room keys.

"Up the stairs and to the right," he said. "All the way at the end of the hall. I'll be serving breakfast tomorrow until late. Feel free to eat tomorrow before you head out. Have a pleasant night." The elf gave a wink and headed back up the stairs without looking back. As he approached the room he'd exited from, there came a faint, "Where were we?" before the door gently closed.

Abashed, Zhull and Ibuun quietly ascended the stairs and took to their rooms without another word to each other.

~~

On the other side of town, a small cloak kept to the shadows, making its way through the gloom south. Around, the homesteads and shops became shabby and wet, almost barnacled by their proximity to the salt water lake Senai. Loose cobblestones dappled the streets with an ever present mud that seemed to hug every surface too close to the ground. Windows were shuttered, doors were bolted fast and padlocked, the only other occupant of the streets were the wayward rats fetching one last meal before sunrise.

The cloak turned down an alleyway, following it all the way to the back, following a signal that would have been nearly invisible to others, even people that may have been looking out for it. A roofing tile above overlooking the alleyway from the awning of a neighboring building. What might have been a smudge of dirt was painted black on the bottom of the tile - a pair of supplicant hands turned palm up, as though asking for coin.

The smell grew worse near the end of the alley, the gutter ended abruptly at a grate that led into a spillway, the sound of rushing water audible from behind the bars. A bedraggled looking beggar seemed to be minding his drunken business, leaning beside the grate, humming a tuneless melody to himself. Silently, the cloak approached, glancing over her shoulder back the way she came.

"Spare a coin?" the beggar asked, a pockmarked man with sun-kissed skin and red hair.

"Split a copper," replied Thistle. The man grunted, listing heavily to one side. He placed his back against a protruding brick behind them, pushing it inward until the mechanism activated. There was a click and the grating swung in from the opposite side of the lock, that was actually a hinge for the entryway.

"He's asking about you," said the man, not quite so drunkenly. "Earliest convenience, methinks."

"Who's asking?"

"You know." Thistle's frown deepened a fraction. She slipped past the man, silently entering as the grate closed behind her. The spillway descended down and veered to a fork. Thistle took the left path and continued.

Once beyond the opening of the spillway, the smell improved, at least a little. Sewage had been mostly diverted from the major inroads, though there needed to be at least a little for appearance sake, in case someone thought there was a blockage and came to look. Thistle traversed a seemingly random continuum of twists and turns, circling back and again, but moving ever closer to the center below the city, moving further downward to the sounds of moving, dripping water. There were no lights - those who did not know the way would be instantly lost in the perpetual darkness, except for the few street level grates that fed into the sewer, letting in a faint bit of moonlight. For the other places, Thistle's eyes reflected back whatever dim light there was, allowing her to see almost as clearly as if it were merely a cloudy day outside. Colors were not so visible, but there were distinct shapes and edges.

Finally, voices began to accompany the sound of water.

The tunnel finally opened up into a large cistern, blue with the faint light reflected through the chamber. The stones were old, perhaps some of the oldest in Antorac, laid at the very foundations of the city hundreds of years ago. The mirrored glass was new along the ceiling. A system of mirrors brought light in from the outside without there needing to be a direct source down below, dim and flickering and faintly blue.

The chamber was cavernous, hundreds of feet across, with places and vestibules to stand to the side, and a large pool of water in the middle, always moving. The cistern was at nexus to all the other sewers in Biharbor - the epicenter of a subterranean spiderweb that spanned the city over. Inside there were numerous hunched people of varying races, many dressed as Thistle, others not, mingling and speaking to one another in hushed tones, the echoes loud enough to hear someone clearly all the way on the other side of the room.

Keeps them honest, Thistle mused, as she looked about the crowd for her mark.

She found him in one of the offshoot tunnels, near the back, slightly apart from a nearby crowd of stooping people, three elves and a few humans, glancing over their shoulders periodically, hands ever on their purses. The figure itself was only a little taller than Thistle and dressed in all black. Every part of them was covered in simple, black robes, dirty black boots, black leather gloves. A dark hood completely obscured the face as they lay slouched, as though half asleep and nodding off. Thistle walked around them, leaning against the wall next to them with her arms crossed.

"I'm here," she whispered, not looking down. The hood rose, looking up as though startled for a moment. The figure then awkwardly rose with a few wavering steps like a drunk. Carefully, they began to make their way past Thistle, heading further down the tunnel.

"Gather your friends," it whispered in a wheezing rasp. Thistle sighed.

"They're not my friends," she muttered, glancing about.

Allister was not difficult to locate - a crowd of listeners had gathered while he recounted the events of the evening.

"And there we were, our backs against the gates, after I single-handedly freed all of us from the Iron Ward so we could escape. Skilled as I am, I knew that a fight would be useless against so many. I would have to use my wit to give us even the faintest chance of liberation," he said, his voice theatrical in the retelling. His audience was enraptured, and he was about to deliver the climax of how he had talked his way into being released with the rest of them when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.

Frustrated at the interruption, he turned to address the interloper but was cut off by a glowing, blue hand touching the side of his face. Arcs of lightning leapt from her hand to his head, emitting a sizzling crack that sent him stumbling into the wall and nearly falling into a fetid puddle of water. The crowd was raucous with laughter as Thistle popped her knuckles, her face ruthless.

"Thistle!" he cried, clutching the side of his face to hide the bruise beginning to bloom over his cheek. "Oh thank Gods, you're all right! Terribly sorry I couldn't stay, dear, terribly rude but I was needed back here immediately. Stay off the streets. Keep a low profile. You know how it goes. These gentlemen were just about to fetch me a drink in celebration. I was just about to get to the part where you freed us all and broke us out of the Iron War-OW!" he exclaimed as Thistle grabbed his ear and forced him away. Thistle dispersed the rest of the listeners with the glare, then turned on Allister.

"Keep it to yourself!" she whispered, letting go of him. "He wants to see you."

"Who? Whatever it was, it wasn't me. Especially if it was me, it wasn't."

"You know who."

"No, I don't. I really am quite busy right now, Thistle, I owe a few drinks and fancy a date to the Gilded Rose." Thistle groaned, leaning forward to their faces were almost touching.

She whispered, "The Beggar King."

Allister blinked. "Say again."

"You heard me."

"Okay, very funny. Excellent joke, Thistle. Now who is it really?"

"Allister, have I ever made a joke before?"

"Thistle, darling, the Beggar King is an urban legend. He's not real."

For the first time since leaving the Iron Ward, Thistle's face softened a fraction with the faintest hint of mock pity.

"Oh Allister, he is real. And he wants to see you. And you know what that means, don't you?"

Allister watched Thistle's face for a long time as her pity evolved into a little smirk, a slightly cocked eyebrow. His face experienced many different stages of grief, some more than once.

"Wait. You... you can't be serious? The Beggar King. The Beggar King?"

"You have a debt to pay," was all Thistle said as she turned her eyes away from Allister long enough to search near the ceiling over the cistern. The supporting pillars were topped with gargoyles and rat nests that overlooked the business going down below. One of the gargoyles, furrier than the others, moved slightly in partial slumber. Thistle gave a sharp whistle and a somewhat ruffled looking Narani raised her head and glanced down to them, where Thistle had spotted her on the way into the cistern. All she had to do was give a little signal and Narani began to descend the pillar to join them. Allister had managed to slip a few steps away before Thistle grabbed the back of his collar and began to drag him down the tunnel.

The hooded figure greeted them silently, just as Narani arrived to join them.

"You have summoned me?"

"Your audience has been requested by our employer. I suggest you follow." They began to set off together, the hooded man in the lead. "How did you find this place?" Thistle asked, her voice betraying neither interest nor suspicion.

"You would be surprised by how closely your codes resemble the ones used by our tribe. Same basic symbols."

"Your tribe has a thieves code?"

"These are strange times." Thistle waited, but Narani offered nothing else.

They walked in relative silence for the next few minutes, the only sound being water and the consternated noises coming from Allister as he cleared his throat, popped his neck, whistled a little tune, popped his lips, and sucked his teeth with growing frequency. Thistle managed to come up with at least seven ways to silence Allister once and for all when their guide took a sharp turn and descended down a set of small steps, exiting the spillway and out into the night.

They were on a lonely stretch of narrow beach, beyond the pockets of light that marked the harbor and the ships coming in from the lake. Here the air was briny and smelled of fish and other dead things slowly becoming one with the sand. Above them, the night sky was a tapestry of twinkling stars. Apparently ignorant of the beauty, their guide took a sharp right and began to follow the beach further into the night. Thistle had already grabbed hold of Allister's lapels before he could even think of turning the other way and slipping into the shadows. Another bout of silence followed before their guide arrived at a small rowboat nestled behind a rocky outcrop. The figure deftly entered the boat with barely a shifting of his cloak, sitting on the far end and simply waiting.

Allister's eyes were wide.

"Thistle, please. This isn't necessary. How am I supposed to repay a debt when I'm dead?"

"You're not dead Allister. At least not yet. The only way you can ensure that you die tonight is to remain on this shore," she said. "You as well, Narani." The apeling flung herself over the side and sat on the floor of the boat with nary a complaint, looking curiously at the happenings with a discerning eye, but a general calm. Allister stood frozen for only a few more moments before he huffed and climbed into the boat. Once everyone was in, Thistle herself took the side of the ship and gently pushed them out into the water, hopping into the back of the boat and taking up the oars to maneuver them further onto the lake. They stuck near to the shore for a while before turning out, staying far away from the ships and the other lights of the harbor. Allister's knee bounced relentlessly, tapping a dirge into the wood. Narani's head was on a swivel, looking at every wave and curiosity with a snap focus that jumped to one sound, then another. Thistle ground her teeth and rowed for another ten minutes before she let the boat come to rest a little offshore.

"Well?" Allister asked, eyes locked on the distant shoreline. Thistle put the oars down, crossing her arms again and leaning back.

The boat began to move again - not forward, but down.

Allister's eyes grew wide as he felt them begin to descend, glancing about.

"We're taking on water!" Thistle shushed him.

"Sit, Allister. Keep your head down."

"But-"

"Stop moving!" But Allister was right, they were sinking fast and it didn't seem as though anyone was doing anything about it. Narani's eyes were also wide, but with curiosity rather than fear. She remained, watching the water level rise until it would breach the lip.

They continued to sink, but the water did not breach.

The boat continued downward as the water rose, becoming a little wall of water, then larger. Yet they appeared to be safe and dry and in some sort of pocket within the ship. The water closed around them at the top, and they were completely submerged, though still breathing and completely dry. Allister reached out with a shaking hand to touch the wall of water, his finger able to breach the boundaries well enough. The water simply couldn't enter.

"Incredible."

"We're almost there," said Thistle, kicking one leg over the other to wait. They descended for another fifteen minutes, falling through ever darker and deeper water. The ship sometimes turned one way, then another, but there was little enough to look at without ambient light from the town or sky. Soon, they were plunged into complete darkness. There was only their breathing and the waiting. For Narani, the darkness was all encompassing. It was easy to close her eyes and become nothing - to let her borders dissolve away until she was one with the dark.

Outside, the boat impacted wood.

The figure rose. There was a faint, warm light just beyond the barrier of water. Then the barrier dissolved away, leaving an opening into another space. It was difficult to see, but as Allister's eyes adjusted to the dim light, other details became more clear. There was a hull, a figurehead of something he couldn't make out, masts and tattered sails.

A shipwreck.

"Everyone out," Thistle commanded. The figure continued onward, stepping from the boat onto a large hole in the bottom of the ship, tipped onto its side at the bottom of the Senai. For the first time that night, everyone followed Thistle's command without question.

The inside of the ship was rustic but clean. If one didn't know better, one could make believe that they were simply on a ship on the surface at night, rather than far below it. Though the ship listed heavily to one side, there appeared to be a number of amenities added that made the space habitable. The portholes had dark curtains, there were tables and chairs down in the gun deck of the ship. The door to the Captain's quarters was slightly askew, but the hinges were greased and the brass doorknob polished when Allister examined it. He thought they were going to speak there, but their guide turned the other way, moving below to the holding deck.

"So... is anyone going to tell me what's going on?" he asked, but the others were already part way below. Allister frowned and followed. "Hey! I'm speaking here! I know we have to meet this mysterious Beggar King, if that's really who it is and this isn't some trick, but I have something to say. I demand to be heard-oh..." He followed them to the top of a descending ladder, making his way down without looking. It was only at the bottom that he turned to look at what lay beneath.

Every free inch of space was glittering with wealth. Jewels and gems, tapestries and art pieces, pottery and chalices, coins of silver and gold littered the hold in piles that rose above the heads of everyone in the following. Statues were adorned with decadent jewelry - bracelets and necklaces with large sparkling stones, cut to refract the light into a kaleidoscope of colors that reflected off the inner hull.

"Gods above," Allister whispered, eyes wide, a single tear rolling down his cheek. The dual leaders of Biharbor may not have this much wealth in their vaults!

"Don't touch anything," Thistle said, her voice quiet. Allister's eyes flicked to her, then back to the piles. He licked his lips, one hand outstretched toward a chest covered in coins. Just to feel the gold in his hand... but he was stopped by the gloved hand of the figure, holding him at bay.

"I must insist that you not touch anything," the figure whispered, breathless and harsh.

"Or what? I'll be punished by this 'Beggar King'? If I'm going to die down here, I would at least like to take one last pleasure before the end."

"The only way you'll die down here is if you touch something you're not supposed to," the figure replied. He stepped in front of Allister, reaching into his robes to produce a dead fish hidden somewhere in the fold. He dangled it out, seemingly to nothing, before there was a shifting from within the coins.

Not the coins, the chest. They fell from the lid as the shape of the chest began to shift, imperceptibly at first, then more as it seemed like a chill ran over the wood itself. A low growl began to curl out from within the chest, the lid opening by itself. Rather than more riches, rows of sharp teeth and a waft of meaty breath wafted through the chamber. A long purple tongue arched up to receive the fish that was dropped into its apparent mouth, which it ravenously ate. The figure produced more fish, tossing them to the other chests about the room - four in total. Each of them snatched the fish with a lashing tongue before it touched the piles of coin, chomping them to chum before a loud, snarling purr filled the room. The figure ran a gloved hand over the closest one, stroking it like one would a cat before moving passed them into the chamber, knocking a few coins askew as he did so.

Allister, swallowing thickly, frowned at the display.

"But you're allowed to touch this treasure? What makes you so special?" he asked petulantly. The figure walked through the piles until he reached a large, jewel encrusted stone throne, which he turned and sat on.

"Allister," said Thistle, stepping forward, careful to avoid the coins, "this is the Beggar King. I suggest you pay your respects." Allister smiled, about to laugh at the joke, but the look he received from Thistle was withering. He glanced back and forth between her and the figure before taking a gold from his purse and dropping it into the pile.

"Pleasure to meet you, your Highness," he said.

"As is mine," added Narani, dropping a copper piece among the coins. "My apologies for the size of my offering." Narani was also looking around the room with interest, but not with the same avarice as Allister. She appeared more interested in the statues and the colors cast on the hull - more taken by the beauty than the power the wealth promised.

"Allister Stormgale," rasped the Beggar King, and Allister snapped to attention. "I understand you ran into a bit of trouble with your last shipment."

"Well... yes," he hesitated. His eyes glanced around to the chests, who were now coming to rest after their meal. "Surely you understand, birds are a difficult thing to transport. Let alone smuggle."

"I would have thought someone with your skills and reputation could circumvent those obstacles with tact. But I suppose the rumors about you could have been exaggerated," the Beggar King parried. Allister's eyes narrowed.

"They are not. And one can only prepare for so much. The only thing certain in this lifestyle is uncertainty."

"You should have known better," the Beggar King replied, sitting forward in his throne. He took hold of a silver chalice, encrusted with sapphires, and began to polish it with a black cloth from within the folds of his robes. "If you were going to Wildmoor or Al-Jazeem, birds might have been acceptable cargo. It was not a question of if something would go wrong. Only when."

"It was a calculated risk. The pay off was worth it."

"Only if you received payment. Instead, your cargo was impounded along with your ship." The Beggar King moved back on his throne, throwing one leg over the other. "The latter, however, I have taken care of."

Allister raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Your ship's been released back to you. There was nothing that could be done about the cargo, but it shouldn't have been on board anyway."

"You sprung me from prison and released my ship?" Allister asked. "What is this about?"

"A favor in exchange for your freedom. The next three shipments you smuggle are on behalf of the Beggars, of which I expect to receive a sizable cut. And should I require anything else in the time before your debt has been repaid to us, with interest, you will accomplish to the best of your reputed ability, without question."

"You've been press-ganged, Allister," added Thistle, watching the pained expression growing on his face. "Welcome to the fold."

Allister cast about, looking for some sort of escape.

"What if I refuse?" he asked. Thistle smirked, looking over her shoulder at the Beggar King.

"Of course," he whispered, "you always have a choice. I'm sure you know, based on where you are, your choice is either to accept or give your body to my pets," he said, motioning to the chests in the room. "What say you?"

Moments passed as Allister glared into the dark, inscrutable hood, Allister's frown deepening. Finally, his shoulders slouched.

"Anything else you require, your Majesty?"

"Your disdain is noticed. You're dismissed. Wait in the boat, I require a private word."

"I'm not just one of your... what? Servants?" Allister bit out.

"You are now. Go." Shoulders hunched, Allister retreated back to the ladder and ascended to the gun deck to wait.

"I assume I shall need to repay some debt as well?" Narani asked, though far less nervous than Allister. Thus, the Beggar King's tone was less condescending.

"That was the idea. You're a rare treat, it would seem. Whispers have reached me of an escape from the Iron Ward, one of whom appeared to be some sort of monkey. Obviously you're much more than that. I apologize, but I am not quite familiar with your kind."

"The feeling is mutual," replied Narani.

"And clever. You can perhaps see why someone like me would be curious about someone like you. The Beggars are always looking for individuals skilled in second-story work. And if you think even half as well as you climb, then I would be a fool not to obtain such a valuable asset. I would thus like to offer you a job, if you would be interested," he asked. Narani glanced around, longer finger scratching her head.

"I am not sure I am in a position to refuse."

"That you are not, but do not mistake my command for distaste. Allister is a child, but his ship is valuable. I believe our working relationship can be more mutually beneficial. You will be well compensated for services rendered."

"What would you have me do?"

"Rumor has it there have been ruins uncovered to the east. Any dungeon diver and tomb raider that knows about it is surely headed there to see what they can dig up. I would like the two of you to be the first there."

"The two of us?" Thistle asked.

"Indeed. You have both proved yourselves capable after tonight, though I would remind you, Thistle, about the importance of discretion." The hood turned toward her and she colored, lower jaw working. She spoke through clenched teeth.

"It just so happens we've already been asked to go there by another party," she said. "The Dean of College of Senai already asked us to accompany the half-orc we sprung and a dragonborn he's chosen to the ruins to rescue some lost excavators. I didn't plan on going. The job is too dangerous."

"You should take the job."

"You can't be serious!" Thistle said, turning around so she could face him. "It doesn't matter how much they're offering, nor whatever could be inside. If fourteen armed and trained dungeon divers couldn't get out, then how are the four of us supposed to?"

"It will be a challenge, certainly," said the Beggar King. "But I well know, if you are not the ones to go down and come back, others will. There are already whispers of other groups sending their own to investigate."

"Like who?" asked Thistle.

"For one, a rather aggressive group of orcs have been spotted roaming the woods there. Their banner is a fist clutching a cracked piece of dark earth." At this, Narani went very well. The Beggar King continued.

"They could be native to the region."

"Unlikely. Tevari is known for its population of elves, not orcs. And there are others, most notably among them, the Four Ravens." Thistle's eyes grew wide for a moment before reverting back to her usual scowl.

"I can't."

"We accept," said Narani. Thistle's head whipped over. Narani's fur was standing on end, her eyes dark and inscrutable. "Whatever you require, we shall do."

"Excellent," replied the Beggar King. "Accompany the others and do as the Dean instructs. He and I shall both reward you, though I am entitled to a cut of whatever you find. Now here," he said, taking a few pouches that jingled with coins. He tossed both of them to Thistle. "This is for your services tonight. The other is for the beggars. Give it to Rolo to distribute. Now go. Anything magical you find is yours to keep. Shadows guide you," he said, in a tone that signaled finality. Narani was already headed up the ladder. Thistle remained.

"You know I can't do this," she said.

The Beggar King's tone was quiet, even for a whisper. "Mind yourself. Entrench yourself with your companions. I expect to see you back here, safely, for your report and payment. You are smart, Thistle. I am confident you will not fail me." Thistle stood planted in front of the throne for a few more silent moments, but the Beggar King offered no more. Finally, she turned to the ladder and ascended back to the boat.


	4. Colomon Fields

Morning in Biharbor arrived promptly at the ringing of the various bells hanging around the city. The first usually arose from the church of Torm, followed shortly thereafter by other, smaller churches to the various other gods. Hearing the early devout rousing for the day, the two houses of Biharbor - the Red Keep and the Ivory Citadel - would chime in with their own bells, signaling the start of commerce while the church bells signaled the start of worship. Finally, the bells on the docks and ships would begin to toll, and the sleepy city on the lake would rise to work.

This was the sound that had woken Zhull and Ibuun and accompanied them through breakfast, served by Nico personally. There were other patrons inside the establishment as well that morning, another few half-orcs, some half-elves, and a dwarven woman, scratching at her morning stubble. Everyone ate heartily and it appeared as though Nico did all the cooking himself, serving multiple plates at a time whilst conversing with those. Zhull and Ibuun watched closely, but Nico paid particular attention to each of his patrons. There was no telling who his late night companion might have been.

Once fed, Nico bid them a safe journey.

"Be sure to come back and tell me how it went," he said, his eyes trailing up and down his body and giving him a wink. Zhull gave a nervous wave and they headed out. With Ibuun tagging along, they stopped at a few shops to quickly gather some supplies.

"It's a little early," Ibuun said, "but we should still head to the gate if we want to meet them. I don't want to keep them waiting."

"We'll be there, but I wanted to stop by the Keep first," said Zhull.

"Why's that?"

"Remember what Solomis said? Apparently one of the excavators was found and brought back to the Keep. Maybe we could talk with them and try to figure out what it is they saw."

"Solomis said they were nearly incoherent," Ibuun argued. "I'm not sure we're going to get anything out of him."

"Could be they just don't understand what they're talking about. I've seen shell-shocked soldiers before, we can figure something out. And if not, we'll hurry off to the gate no problem." Ibuun looked up to gauge the sun before giving a nod.

"Let's go quickly then."

They made their way back through the city again, into the same district that had house the Azure Tower. Recognizing them from the previous night, the guards let both of them through without any trouble, and they made their way toward the large Red building in the center of this part of Biharbor.

The Red Keep was aptly named and impossible to miss in the central district. A large, reddish dome rose above the other buildings, accompanied by a few spires dotted around the outside. Once inside the red walls that surrounded the structure, through the portcullis, a compound of other buildings lay inside, surrounding a large, empty square where dignitaries and other important looking individuals meandered about speaking to one another or going about their business. Zhull and Ibuun made their way through them to the bottom of a set of wide stairs that led up to the main Keep. Their legs were burning by the time they had climbed all the stairs, and they were allowed inside after repeating Solomis' name to the guards outside and asking to see where the excavator was being held.

"We'll escort you down," the gnomish guard whispered. She may have only been a little over three feet tall at most, but her armor had been custom built in the Antorac style, a single red feather rising out of a bronze helm, breastplate covered by a red and gold tabard. "But it's strictly need-to-know. Whatever's said down there stays down there, understand?" Only when the two of them gave their assent were they led into the Keep.

The inside resembled much of the outside, with it's mosaic style of sprawling warm colors across whatever surface. Colorful rugs had been woven to match the colorful tapestries that hung all about the walls. Above them along the inner wall of the dome, a large fresco was painted depicting what must have been the history of Antorac, though neither of them knew the city well enough to recognize the figures or events. The pinnacle of the dome was topped with glass, a skylight that allowed sunbeams to pierce the sanctum and cast a warm glow across everything inside.

"This way," the guard said, leading them off from the expansive central chamber. They left the roaming dignitaries and other Antorac nobles behind as they moved into progressively smaller and smaller hallways. Eventually, they arrived at a stair where they descended below ground level by a floor. Below the ground, the air was much cooler than the early summer outside, with only a faint light coming in through sill windows and candles. At the bottom of the stair was a door that led to a larger space, with comfortable beds with clean linens pushed along the wall. All of them were empty except for one, a dwarven woman in white leaning over a dwarven man laying on the bed, brow slick with sweat. Dust motes floated across a small beam of light from the window, revealing the sickly sheen over his skin. The guard stood aside and they entered, the woman turning around.

"Can I help you?"

"Hello. I'm Ibuun Ummeric, and this is Zhull Blackhand. We've been hired by the Dean to investigate what happened to... well, to him, in the ruins. We wanted to know if we could ask him a few questions, if he's able."

"Afraid not, Miss Ummeric," said the woman, giving her patient a pitying look. "Hasn't said much but nonsense. A few names, some things repeated but nothing that makes sense. Nothing worth remembering. It would be easier if we could get through to him, but he's been this way the whole time he's been here. Can't get his fever to come down, but we can't figure out what's wrong." Ibuun frowned in the way dragonborn did, long lips pulling down at the corners, nostrils flared.

"If you don't mind, I have some healing experience. Would you mind if I had a look?" Ibuun offered. The woman shrugged.

"Be my guest." Ibuun moved closer, careful of her claws as she looked over the prone dwarf.

"What's his name?" Zhull asked, standing back to watch.

"Alec," said the woman. "And I'm Bertha," she said, extending a hand for a shake. "Sorry we can't be of more help. If we could break the fever perhaps things would be better, but he's not responding to all the usual treatments. Barely sleeps, and when he does it's fretful. Ravenous thirst but no appetite, not contagious yet, I should think, I've been watching him for a while and have yet to come down with anything more than a bit of pollen."

Ibuun peeked at the man's eyes, careful that her claws did not pierce him anywhere as she looked around. Indeed, there didn't appear to be much else wrong with him despite the clammy flesh. His eyelids fluttered as though in a dream, eyes focused on nothing, barely aware that any of them were in the room. There was nothing inflamed inside his mouth or near the back of his throat, yet he seemed to gently wheeze. Ibuun sat back and scratched at her neck, sighing as she turned back around.

"I guess there isn't much we're going to learn here," she said to Zhull. He nodded solemnly, pointing at his chin.

"Got something on your face." Ibuun blushed and wiped at whatever it was, her claws coming back a little yellow.

Something was stuck to her claws, yellowish-green like pollen.

"You said you have some aversion to pollen," Ibuun said to Bertha. "I can't imagine you frequent the gardens much in the city."

"Heavens no. I'd be sheddin' tears and sneezin' for days."

"But you have been sneezing some?"

"A little, perhaps. Figured I just picked something up on the breeze, now that the weather's warmer. Why? You think I have something? I've been with him for two weeks and haven't noticed anything."

"Except sneezing. You didn't pick up anything outside. It's coming from him. You wouldn't happen to have an anti-fungal around, would you?" Ibuun asked. Bertha nodded and retrieved it from her wooden case of vials and potions. Ibuun took some and dabbed it along the inside of his nose with a cloth before getting him to drink the rest of it.

One minute passed. Then two.

By the third minute, the redness of Alec's flesh had subsided some, his brow starting to dry. His eyelids stopped fluttering them and he opened his eyes and glanced about with purpose.

"Where... where am I?" he asked, voice hoarse and thick. Bertha watched on, wide-eyed.

"Light of the Lawbringer... you did it!"

"You are in the Red Keep in Biharbor, in the infirmary. Don't try to move too much, I'm sure you're weak. Have some more water," said Ibuun, handing over the pitcher. Alec drank for a long time, minus the desperation of before.

"What was it?" Bertha asked.

"Spores," said Ibuun. "Not quite pollen, exactly. Much worse, actually, but that should help clear it out."

Finally, Alec coughed and cleared his throat.

"When... how long has it been?" His beard had been trimmed, perhaps to help him stay cool, and his fingers groped about looking for the familiar length to stroke. He frowned when he didn't find it there.

"About a fortnight, lad," Bertha said, watching over Ibuun's shoulder. "You've had quite the shock." Alec's eyes were wide, glancing about.

"And... what about them? Where are they? Is there anyone else?" Bertha frowned, shaking her head.

"Just you."

"That's what we wanted to know, if you wouldn't mind telling us," said Ibuun.

Zhull nodded. "We've been hired to investigate what you found. Retrieve anyone else we can find that's left there. But we'd like to know what you might have found so we know what to expect. What did you see?" Alec seemed to only be half listening. He struggled to raise up on his elbows, Ibuun and Bertha both instinctively moving forward to stop him. He looked about the room for a moment before he turned to sit on the edge of the bed, though he made no move to stand.

"No one else came back?" he asked, eyes on the floor. "I'm trying... to remember..." He put his head in his hands, becoming very still. Ibuun gently laid a clawed hand on his shoulder.

"You've been through so much, but there are still ways you can help. Whatever you remember can help us bring back more people. Were you attacked? Did everyone else fall ill like you?" Alec took his head out of his hands, but he didn't look up. His eyes watched the floor as though it were playing out before him.

"No... not at first," Alec said, "The only clue we had that something might have been wrong were the animals. Only large things lived around the area. Things that weren't afraid of the dark. All of the other, smaller game gave the ruin a wide berth."

"What did it look like?" Zhull asked.

"Like some kind of old temple, out there in the middle of the forest. Couldn't say who it might have been to, but the forest was well on its way to taking it all back. It's what makes the place so hard to find. All of it is overgrown, you can easily miss it for just more trees. Even when we made it inside, things seemed alright. We descended down and set up camp. Only then did things get strange..." His eyes wandered over the floor, mapping out the design of the rug beneath his bed.

"We set out multiple times in multiple directions, taking different paths. Sometimes, it would feel as though days were passing, and we would turn some new corner and come upon the camp from some new angle or some new path we hadn't seen before. It felt like weeks of wandering down below in the pitch dark, with only our torches to guide us. Paths felt like they wound around each other, tied us into knots. Everything always seemed knew, and then we would be back where we began. And each time we went out, more of us would go missing. It didn't matter if they were the ones going out or maintaining the camp. Slowly, more and more of us began to disappear, sometimes with their gear, other times not. Soon, there were only a few of us left. Until they came back."

"So you found them again?" Ibuun asked. Finally, Alec looked up from the floor, eyes sad and skin pale.

"More like they found us. They looked like them, but they weren't them. They looked sickly... I couldn't even say how long they were lost, even we didn't know how long we had been down there. We tried to talk to them, but they didn't seem to hear us. They just... weren't there. When they did hear us, or see us, they... they attacked us." Alec had started to shake, rattling the metal bed frame. Ibuun put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "Whoever they caught, they either dragged off somewhere into the ruins or beat to death in front of us. Our supplies were low and we were all feeling sick of the dark and isolation. We were weak, and they were so much stronger than us all of the sudden. At some point during the fighting... I think I went numb. I wandered away from everything, somewhere into the dark, anyway I could. I remember ascending, after everything was quiet. I wasn't trying to sneak out, I didn't have the energy, but I must have made my way somehow. There are only disconnected images... then you were leaning over me," he finished, looking to Ibuun. She frowned in worry - difficult for a dragonborn to do, but her face seemed used to the configuration - and looked down at the spores still clinging to her claws. She moved her hand away, wiping them on her tabard carefully, trying not to think of how they smelled of cloying, green earth.

"You've been through something terrible, Alec."

"What happened?" he asked, eyes searching. "What did we find?" A moment of silence passed between.

"When we get back, if you still want to know, we'll tell you."

~~

They arrived at the Eastern gate of the city, packs slung over their shoulders. Thistle and Narani were already there, watching from a shady spot near the gate.

"Took you long enough."

"You're already here? Did you sleep at all?"

"I don't sleep," Thistle replied, her face unchanging. Whatever Zhull was about to say stopped dead in his throat. He was about to ask her for an explanation, but she was already walking away toward the gate. Beside them, Ibuun was watching Narani curiously.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met. I'm Ibuun Ummeric," she said, bending a little at the knee so she could reach Narani to shake her hand. "You're accompanying us as well?"

"Yes. I am Narani. Of the Wind Fist. I am honored to meet you."

"Oh yes! Zhull spoke a great deal about you. All of it good. You had a very interesting night last night."

"Certainly a strange one, but hopefully fortunate that we should all meet here. I am not in a cell. I have him to thank for that."

"We all helped," said Zhull, hefting his pack and giving a tusken smile.

"If you're all done patting each other on the back," called Thistle from the gatehouse, "I'd like to get there by the end of the year, if we can manage it."

"She's... pleasant," muttered Ibuun.

"She's skilled," replied Zhull. "Right now, that's the most important thing." Together, supplies in hand, they exited the gate onto the road.

~~

Beyond the gate, the region of Antorac bloomed with the vivaciousness of late spring. Above, the sky was deep blue with sparse white clouds casting small patches of shadows on the landscape, rolling hills leading away from Biharbor inland. After a few hours, the road turned from stones, to loose stones, to well-worn dirt with patches of green grass. Dandelions and wild flowers waved in the warm breeze, calling to bees that buzzed lazily among the sporadic bunches. Trees cropped up near the road occasionally, sometimes as part of a copse along a ditch, other times alone in the middle of the fields, playing host to bird nests and beehives and squirrels.

They walked for a few hours, early morning turning into late as the sun passed over them, each minding their own thoughts before Narani broke the silence.

"So, Miss Ibuun Ummeric. What is it that you do?" She moved until she was walking beside her, sometimes using her knuckles to maneuver, other times not. In one hand she was holding an apple that moved from one hand to the other, sometimes to one of her feet, once to her tail. She seemed to be feeling out the balance with each independent limb. It took a moment for Ibuun to answer while she watched her manipulate the fruit, Narani taking a bite while holding it from her tail.

"What do you mean?"

"Were you sent with us to merely observe? Are you related to one of the missing? Solomis knows this mission is dangerous. He would know better to send someone defenseless unless he had a very good reason."

"Well," Ibuun said, her voice quiet. "I'm a cleric. An initiate of the Church of the Sterling Scales."

"Interesting. Very interesting," Narani said, giving her a knowing look. "I do not know what that means."

"Ain't that... what's his name? Kelemvor?" Zhull asked.

"It is," Ibuun replied, a soft smile on his face.

"And so you are here to pray for us?" Narani asked. If Ibuun was offended by the comment, she didn't know it.

"Yes, if it helps. Hopefully, to heal you should the need arise."

"Divine magics then? That is something."

Late morning had given way to midday, the sun directly above them in the sky among a ring of clouds. Along the path, a small grove of trees shaded the road, along with a large boulder that had been pushed to the side long ago to make room for the dirt path.

"I could really use something to eat. We should stop and take a meal."

"You've been eating non-stop since we left Birharbor," muttered Zhull, barely audible over Narani's large teeth snapping into another apple.

"As I said, I am hungry. We should rest here for a moment." Narani scaled to the top of the boulder with ease, lounging on the top. Zhull dropped his things to one side in the shade, leaning back against it. Thistle moved past all of them, scaling the boulder like Narani, but continuing up the tree that was bent against it's weight. She found handholds with a graceful ease until she found a branch that could support her weight, sitting above everyone else, closing her eyes. Ibuun stood next to Zhull, leaning one side on the boulder, feeling the coolness of it, even through her armor.

"Do you have some notion of divine magic, Narani? Whom do you pray too?" Ibuun asked.

Narani was fishing around the inside of her bearskin vest. "My tribe pays tribute to Sylvanus."

"They worship nature then?"

"They do. If I am being honest, I have never had reason to believe in such things. If I cannot see it with my own eyes, especially something as powerful as a God, I cannot be sure if such a person truly exists, but there it is." Narani's expression had turned from lighthearted curiosity to something more neutral, cooler. From within her vest, she revealed something small and black. She set it down carefully on the stone and revealed another, hairy and as big as one of her hands. Two tarantulas began to investigate the boulder with tentative taps of their front legs before Narani placed two small rats down in front of each, recently caught and killed.

"What are those?" Ibuun asked, eyes wide.

"Old companions from my home, natives to Okoyo and its forest."

"How long have you had those?" Zhull asked.

"Did I misspeak? Since I was back home, as I said."

"They were with you in the Iron Ward."

"Yes."

"And they've been with you this whole time? Inside your vest?"

"That is where they are most comfortable. They are used to warmer climates than this, even with summer approaching. I make sure they have a warm place to nest."

"On your body?"

"I really do not see the reason for your concern. They are harmless," Narani remarked as the two spiders began the macabre task of gorging themselves on the provided meal. "I have never heard of this Kelemvor, nor his scales. What does he preside over?"

"Well," she said, her voice quieter than normal, "he's the God of Death."

The grove became very quiet as all eyes turned toward her.

"You worship a God... of death?" came Thistle's voice from the branches, her eyes downcast.

"Well... yes."

"And you draw powers from this?"

"It's one of the benefits of the kind of worship I practice, yes."

"And what kinds of 'practices' are those?"

"Excuse me," Ibuun said, blowing a bit of mist from her nose, "we're not sacrificing people, if that's what you're asking. It's not like it's all death. Just that little moment between life and afterlife. That's all."

Thistle closed her eyes again, head leaning back against the tree. "Seems a lot of fuss. Having a whole God over something so small."

"It's very important. Maybe even the most important thing anyone will ever experience. Your whole life leads to that moment. There's a power there, one that his followers draw wisdom and power from." Thistle sniffed but didn't respond. Ibuun's small tail swished behind her. "Is that really so strange? Surely you must believe in something."

"Not particularly," was Thistle's reply, turning to face away from the rest of them.

"Even for all that, it still seems a little dangerous for a priestess, no matter what church they come from or how much armor they're wearing," Zhull remarked.

"It's part of the church's trials their followers practice if they want to become Doomguides. I'm happy to go."

"Doomguides?"

"This church gets better and better," Thistle quipped.

"I know how it sounds," cautioned Ibuun, holding her claws up. "But that's the title. Death is grim, but also uniting. It's really rather noble. Doomguides are emissaries of Kelemvor and help others on behalf of the church. They help defend lands against those that try to circumvent death and fulfill the will of Kelemvor."

"Which is?" asked Zhull.

"To maintain balance, like the scales. To ensure that those that have earned their place in the afterlife achieve it without harm, as well as to save those that still have life yet to live."

"That makes sense," said Zhull, shaking his head in utter confusion.

The others began to take out varying things to eat, Zhull's large tusks pointing out of his bottom lip as his jaw worked down a piece of jerky.

"And what is your story, Zhull? Surely you're capable, but how did you come by that?" Ibuun asked.

"Yes, where do you hail from?" added Narani.

"Little town outside Al-Jazeem to the east. Crappy little desert bluff town. I served in the Al-Jazeem infantry for a while. Now I'm out and looking for honest work," he said, his green complexion deepening.

"Sounds like you came to the wrong place to find it," Ibuun said.

"I'd never been this far west and wanted to see it. I had no idea things had gotten this bad on the border. Or maybe I was just used to it back home. Half-orcs don't get much fanfare there either. Didn't seem that different to me."

"Is it really so bad there?" Narani asked.

"We don't have a good reputation. And haven't since before anyone could remember where the bad reputation came from but there it is," he growled, chewing with more vigor. "We do what we have to."

Ibuun put a hand on his shoulder. "I think we've all had to do that here, in one way or another."

Zhull shrugged, face neutral. "Except one, maybe."

"Who do you think-"

"I mean, Thistle's an elf. Everyone in the empire seems fine with that."

"Do I look like any kind of elf you've ever seen before?" Thistle replied, teeth clenched.

Zhull made a thoughtful face. "I suppose not. Point taken."

"It had better be," she said, with all the menace of a coiling predator. She turned her back to the group for the rest of their midday meal and said no more.

~~

They continued on throughout the rest of the day, speaking amongst each other intermittently as the sun made its way across the sky behind them toward the horizon.

"You said you were from Okoyo. I don't think I've ever heard of it. Where is it?"

"Aizura," said Narani, "Across a narrow sea to the west, on another continent."

"What are you doing here?" asked Zhull. "You're a long way from home."

"I am on a quest for my tribe. A spiritual quest. I have heard others call it a walkabout."

"Anything in particular you're searching for?"

"Myself, apparently."

"And have you found... yourself?" Zhull asked. Ibuun nudged him with her elbow. "What?"

"That was just... very blunt."

"It's an honest question!"

"She may not want to answer it!"

"She doesn't have to!" Both of them turned to the apeling as she shambled in front of them.

"Narani, you don't have to answer that," they declared together.

For her part, Narani shook her head, her smile tired. "That is all right. If I must answer... I do not believe I have. The miles stretch on... and I am nowhere in sight." She didn't offer anymore. Zhull and Ibuun shared a concerned look, Zhull giving a little shrug.

"If you're finally done with your introductions, we're almost there," said Thistle, speaking for the first time in several hours.

The sun was setting behind them, casting the little town in front of them in sparkling gold reflections and purple shadows. Around, damp fields lay recently watered for miles in all directions, broken by the little homesteads set acres apart and the little town that acted as their nexus. There were a few larger houses grouped together, perhaps ten or more. There appeared to be only two buildings that weren't houses; a single level tavern with a few little tables and chairs set under an awning out front and the building in the center of town where the roads led, a squat, long building with a sign above the old wood door reading Trading Post.

Of the tables and chairs outside the little tavern, many of them were "little" but definition, barely large enough to support Thistle, let alone someone like Zhull. There were more humanoid sized places to sit, but not as many. As the group of them entered the town limits and looked around, this issue was made more clear by the only person that could be seen out at sunset.

A bell rang to their left. When they glanced over, a very small woman was busy calling in her children from the front of the house. The halfling children groaned and made various excuses they could not hear, but the woman was deaf to their plight and ushered them into the house, closing the door part of the way behind her but not shutting it.

Before the rest of them had a chance to say anything, Narani was already making her way over to the half-open door. They made it to the bottom of the porch before she was knocking on the door with a light hand.

The woman started and turned.

"Oh! Oh my, I didn't hear you comin," she said, hand on her chest. "Can I... help you?" Her question was a little subdued as she actually looked at Narani and saw what she was, her eyes trailing up and down to test if she was real. As she stepped a little out of the door, her sandy-blond hair was more visible, a small, blue apron protecting simple brown skirts. Her hair was tied back out of her face, heart-shaped and kind.

"Yes, actually. My friends and I were looking for a place to stay the night while we are passing through. Does your town have an inn or some other place to stay?" she asked. The other three were at the bottom of the single step, each of them troubling over whether they should step in or not. But the woman seemed put off enough by Narani's appearance to not immediately tell them to leave.

"I'm sorry, sugar, but we don't have an inn here in Colomon's. Not too many folk stop here for the night."

"Perhaps you would have some space in your own home? My friends and I will pay, or course."

"We're not your friends," muttered Thistle.

"Narani!" Ibuun said, taking the last step and standing beside her. "You can't just ask that." She turned to the woman with a nervous smile. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right," the woman replied. Her eyes were wide with confusion and wonder now that she seemed to recognize there were other people present. "'Fraid I don't have room here either, what with the kids. Honestly, if you're just looking for a place to sleep tonight, I would say camp out near the town limits. Though I spose you could ask Bertram..." the woman was deep in thought over their problem, but at the mention of the man's name, she stopped and frowned.

"Would this Bertram have some place we might stay?" Narani asked. The woman's mouth pulled into a thin line.

"He has his barn, I'm sure there would be room in there for all of you for the night if you wanted to. Unless you plan to start trouble, but he has an eye for that, so watch yourselves. That would be your only option if you want to sleep under a roof. Just... watch your things," she explained.

"He some kind of thief?" Zhull asked from the step. The woman's grip on the door tightened, but she remained where she was.

"He's just an odd sort. He's got his little farm and pays his taxes well enough sure, but he's awake at all hours. We can always see his little candle in the window from here and hear him milling about at night in the barn. Which would be fine, really, but folks been havin things go missin," she said, eyes looking down to Thistle, who stood with her arms crossed, leaning against the banister. The rest of the group turned to look at her, which she returned with a glare.

"What kinds of things," she asked.

"Odds and ends, mostly. Few bits of food sometimes, things we leave out. Just last night though, we lost a whole scarecrow. That ain't an expensive piece of equipment to lose necessarily, but for it to just up and disappear makes one wonder." She glanced to her left, looking passed the house. "We just don't know who else would take them."

"But it is a place to sleep. Where does this Bertram live?"

"Just up the hill. That little dirt path just to the right of the house will take you up to the gate and then beyond it. It's gettin late, but I spose he'd probably be up for a while yet."

"Thank you very much for your time this evening. Have a pleasant night and blessings of Sylvanus upon you," Narani said. With a flick of her tail, she turned and began to maneuver passed them, letting the others fall in behind her. Ibuun frowned and turned to look down at the woman.

"I'm sorry for bothering you tonight, that's just Narani. What is your name?"

"Hilda," she said. "Hilda Stockstead."

"I'm Ibuun Ummeric. Thank you for helping us." They departed Hilda's porch, hearing the door close behind them as they walked around. As she said, there was a little dirt path cut through the wild grass leading up to the top of the hill, where a little two-story house watched over Colomon's, a little candlelight flickering in the window.

As they walked, Thistle could feel Ibuun's and Zhull's eyes on her from behind.

"Can I help you?"

"No... it's just-"

"What? Do you think I took what she was talking about?" She asked, cutting Zhull off.

"I mean-"

"I was in Biharbor breaking you out of jail, remember?" she said, through gritted teeth.

"I guess that's true," he said. "Sorry."

"Whatever. I don't take from people who don't have enough. And what even use would I have for a scare...?" she asked, though she didn't finish her question.

"What did you say?"

"Just... nothing." Thistle said, stalking forward so she was ahead of Narani and out of earshot as they ascended the hill. Ibuun frowned and turned to Zhull.

"That was rude."

"I'm sorry, I forgot."

"That she was breaking you out of prison?"

"She could have been doing anything before that time. I don't know how thieves work!"

"Then you need to learn. Even if you don't agree with what she does you're going to be working together."

"I don't think she would tell me," Zhull said with a little laugh.

"Then watch and listen. That I know you can do."

They walked up the rest of the hill in silence, cresting the top and walking through the gate that lay open, waiting for them as Thistle and Narani gingerly put the gate lock down near the gate and walked the rest of the way to the house.

What had once been blue had faded and peeled over the years without another coat, bleached and cracked by the sun. Two steps led to a little porch that rimmed the outside of the house, a rickety looking chair set by the door. Though there was still a candle burning inside the house, there wasn't enough light to see clearly inside through the fogged, grimy windows. Thistle took up her spot at the bottom of the stair with Narani as Zhull rose to the door, tapping the frame with the hard knuckle.

"Hello? Bertram?" he said, his deep voice loud enough to be heard through the house.

Moments passed. No answer. Zhull knocked again.

Still, there was no answer. Thistle looked up to watch the windows. From the side, she could just barely see one of the dark curtains pull aside, the silhouette of a small head casting a small shadow from the candle.

"We're friends of Hilda's," Zhull tried, knocking again. "We were just looking for a place to spend the night." Another few heartbeats passed before there was the sound of rustling on the other side of the door. Bolts and locks were unfastened one after another, traveling what must have been more than halfway up the door before it opened just a fraction, revealing another halfling on the inside of the door frame looking out. He was deeply tanned, or came from a sunny place other than this, with dark hair that was thinning and graying around the temples. Though still a halfling, he was stocky and muscular from what they could see, with thick, weathered hands covered in nicks and scars. His eyes were as dark as the inside of his house, a shadowy brown that was near black.

"Friends of Hilda's ya say?" he asked. With smaller bodies, halfling voices tended to range a little higher than a human's. Bertram's voice was as weathered as the rest of him, hoarse and deep.

"We just met her," Zhull explained. "We were just looking for a place to spend the night. We were wondering if we might use your barn for the night. We'd pay-"

"You'd best find some other lodging, if ya know what's good for ya," he said.

"There isn't any other lodging, that's the whole problem. I don't see why we can't just-"

"Y'all would be fools associating with me. No good will come of it. But if yer certain, then do what ye like. Just get the hell out in the morning and leave me be." Without another word, the door slammed, rattling the boards all the way up the house, leaving all of them standing there in stunned silence.

A few moments passed.

"That was rude," said Ibuun. "I don't see what the problem is."

"He's just an old salt. But he said we could use it and leave in the morning. That's all I needed to hear." Zhull took a skipping step off the porch, Narani falling in line. Clicking her claws together nervously, Ibuun withdrew a silver coin from her purse and pushed it under the door before moving to join the rest.

Thistle remained for a few moments longer, eyes fixed on the door as the others walked away. After half a minute, she sighed and stepped up to the door herself, removing her own coin and kicking it beneath the door before turning to join them in the barn for the night.


	5. The Orchard

Though the accommodations were spartan and dusty, each of the four did what they could to make themselves comfortable.

"It is a nice enough town," said Narani, "but it should be safe. If anything should happen, you will find me on the roof. Good night to all of you." With that, she climbed through the window at the top of the loft of the barn and out of sight. The rest of them bedded down below the window in the straw, scratchy but softer than the hardwood interior. Ibuun chose a stack on one side, Zhull began bedding down near the opposite wall while Thistle situated herself in the windowsill, a small bit of moonlight highlighting her face.

"I don't suppose we're taking watch?" Zhull asked as he laid down.

"I mean, it's a sleepy little town. I don't even know what would happen," said Ibuun.

"I'll be up before you all anyway," replied Thistle, eyes on the moon. "I'll let you know if anything happens."

"Good enough for me. Night all." All of them attempted to make themselves as comfortable as possible, the sounds of rhythmic snoring already drifting down from the roof where Narani was sleeping. Within minutes, the rest of them had drifted off to the sounds of the night.

~~

Zhull did not remember getting into his straw pile with anyone. That he felt as though someone was lying next to him was more of a treat than a surprise. He didn't open his eyes, his mind supplanting the stiff feeling of whatever lay near him with armor, straw with scales. Maybe it was Ibuun... but why would she be laying with him right now? Was he that opposed to it?

No, he decided. Maybe it would be weird when they were awake, but it was kind of nice to have someone there in this cold barn. She wasn't any warmer, but maybe dragonborn were cold blooded. Half-orcs ran warm anyway - he would be okay with that too. He turned over, throwing his arm around whatever was there, then pulling away with a hiss. Cracking one eye open, he reached down and plucked a little sliver of wood from his palm. He opened the other eye and turned, wondering how he could get a wood splinter from a dragonborn. Rather than Ibuun, he was cuddled next to a burlap face, its body a sack stuffed with straw, spine a plank of rough wood that he had accidentally touched. He gasped and reeled back, pumping his head against the back wall.

"Ow..."

"Are you always this noisy when you sleep?" Thistle asked, still in the same position as before. She didn't turn to face him, eyes closed as though she had just been in some kind of restful state before the noise.

"Is something wrong?" asked Ibuun sleepily, turning over.

From somewhere in the distance, there was the small sound of breaking glass. All of them came alert, ears suddenly straining to hear more. Moments ticked by.

There was a high-pitched scream.

"I guess something is wrong," said Zhull, grabbing his sword and shouldering into his armor. "Where's Narani?"

"I'll get her," Thistle said, throwing open the window and reaching through, silently climbing to the roof. Narani was sprawled out over a bedroll, though it was harder to tell with the sky still dark and the moon already having set. Thistle's moon elf eyes could only just pick out her dark fur in the shadows, and she nudged her with a boot.

"There's trouble," she said, but the only response was a protracted snore.

"Narani?"

Nothing.

"Nara-"

SNORE

Teeth bared in frustration, she reeled back and punched Narani hard across the face. Narani's only answer was to yawn, eyes barely opening from a deep sleep.

"Is there something wrong?"

"For goodness sake someone's being attacked! Get up and hurry!" Without waiting, Thistle made her way back inside. Zhull and Ibuun were just finishing getting their armor on as Thistle moved passed them and descended the ladder, running at a full clip toward the sound.

"Thistle! Wait up!" Zhull shouted, clasping the last buckle before sliding down the ladder and giving chase, Ibuun in toe. By the time they were outside, Narani was climbing down the wall and dashing after them, showing her fangs in another wide yawn.

The rest of the farmhouses were dark as they made their way through Colomon Fields in the small hours along the one main road that seemed to feed the town. The only other sound for a moment was their breathing and the crickets, rush of feathers from some nocturnal bird, and breeze rustling the nearby crops. They made their way to the center of town, looking around for another clue as to where the noise came from when there was another crash further near the entryway to the town. A light burned slowly to life in the house they had stopped at to ask for directions, with the halfling woman they had spoken to. Her voice cut through the night with a growing uncertainty.

"Jeremy? Jeremy?! Where are you?!" There was another scream from beyond the house as the four of them rushed to the porch again. Zhull took to banging on the door while Narani and Thistle slipped to the back of the house.

"Hey! It's us, from before! Is everything okay in there?" Zhull called. There only a few seconds before the light floated through the house to the door and it unlocked, revealing Hilda, this time in her night clothes, looking frazzled.

"Did you see anything? Did you see Jeremy at all?" she asked.

"Who's that?"

"He's my son. One of them. I thought I heard something, and I think it was him. I went to his room and the window is broken, and so is the one in the kitchen. Did something happen?" she asked, her eyes wide with fear.

"We can help you look?" said Ibuun. "Do you see anything?!" she called, hoping she could be heard around the house.

The window had indeed been broken at the back of the house leading into the kitchen as well as the one next to it.

"This is to a bedroom," said Narani as she peeked inside. "Glass is broken on the inside."

"This window's broken out," Thistle said, stepping around the glass shards. "They came in and out. Jeremy's not inside?"

"No child there. He is gone. But where?" As if to answer, there was another scream from somewhere behind them, growing distant, along with the sound of rushing feathers. Then another sound, something strange and airy - rattling sticks through the nighttime breeze.

"He's back here!" Thistle called, already giving chase, Narani in toe. Only a few seconds passed before Ibuun and Zhull caught up with them in long strides, running behind the house and off toward the tall crops growing behind the house.

They quickly cut through the field, following where they thought the sound had come from, Thistle and Narani taking the lead. The other side of the field opened into a square orchard, fresh apples ripening on the branches. At the edge, they could hear dragging and something scrabbling along the dirt and grass. From where they stood, thick trees blocked the view from one isle of trees to the other. When they looked back to discuss a plan, Zhull shook his head and put a finger to his lips. He then pointed to each of them, then to a corresponding isle for them to investigate. They nodded and kept low, each spreading and looking down.

There didn't appear to be anything down either row of trees. It wasn't until Thistle advanced a little down hers that she spotted something in the moonlight. It was a person, or at least, it was human shaped. Its movements were jerky and stilted, and it lurched in fits and starts toward some unseen goal in the distance. With every twitch and shudder, there was the sound of wood clacking together within its body. It left a trail of frayed straw in its wake along with grooves of soil dug by tiny fingers as little Jeremy tried to claw his way free from his assailant dragging him onward.

"Let me go!" Thistle couldn't see Jeremy that well, but she could certainly hear his panic. There was no answer other than the strange clacking of wood, a rattling of air and straw. Above them crows cawed and cajoled them, fluttering from one branch of the orchard to the next as though in pursuit.

Thistle waited only a few more seconds in the shadows, tracking its movements to ensure that he was moving away. She brought a finger to her ear, touching a thin piece of copper wire wrapped around her ear beneath the hood. She felt it start to buzz at her touch as she channeled her voice through the Weave, whispering very softly, "Over by me. It's getting away."

Two rows over, Zhull felt as though Thistle was whispering directly into his ear after feeling a soft buzzing, as though he were momentarily connected with something, then disconnected shortly afterward. He shook his head, looking around him confused.

"Thistle? Are you there? What was that?"

Thistle managed to hear only the first part of that through the copper wire buzzing near her ear, her eyes rolling toward the stars above. She pulled out her longbow, nocking an arrow.

"Put him down! Now!" she called to the kidnapper. Thistle could sound deadly threatening when she wanted to, but even with her cutting tone, whatever it was continued staggering off. Thistle only waited another heartbeat before loosing the arrow, sending it whizzing through the night. Despite the dark her aim was true, and it collided with the back of the figure with the sound of splitting wood. Thistle rushed up the row toward Jeremy, still held in its grasp. Zhull heard the arrow land and suddenly understood the Message he had received.

"Over here!" he called, rushing across the rows as he heard Narani and Ibuun join in the chase, emerging in Thistle's row.

About twenty feet from the figure, they finally recognized it. And it was an it, with a partially wooden body and burlap features. It turned as they approached to reveal the terrible visage of a scarecrow. Its burlap head was stuffed full of straw that seemed to leak out the sides and all around the patchwork of seams. Its mouth was a jagged tear curled into a hideous grin, its button eyes lifeless, though there was the distinct impression that it was observing their approach. Its body was an amalgamation of wooden planks and other parts contained within another straw sack for the body, its wooden hands ending in fingers made out of sharpened stakes, like claws, one of which was ripping into Jeremy's clothes to hold him still. Though the arrow jutted out at a sharp angle from its body, it seemed to find it a mere inconvenience as opposed to the mortal wound it would have been on an actual.

The sight of the creature brought them all up short. The scarecrow continued to watch them over it shoulder, even as it shambled further away.

"What in the world is that?" asked Narani. At which point, Jeremy noticed the group approaching and reached out with a soiled hand.

"Help!"

"Whatever it is, scarecrow or not, it ain't friendly," Zhull replied, drawing his sword, and taking a step forward. "Thistle. Narani. Keep it under arrows. Ibuun and I will get Jeremy."

Though the button eyes didn't move, the scarecrow's burlap head tracked them as they moved. As Zhull moved closer it turned, dragging Jeremy through the dirt around it as it did so. Its head reeled back as it released an ear-splitting scream that pierced the night. Something red glowed within its body and head, showing through the outside of the burlap like a fiery essence.

The group shared a collective shudder before Zhull shook his head.

"Don't let it scare you! Get Jeremy!" Without another word, he charged forward, catching up to the scarecrow in five long strides, drawing his sword. They met in a flurry of blows, one after the other. Each slash of the sword was strong enough to cleave through the scarecrow, but it batted away the blade with its clawed hands, the blade catching in the hardwood, leaving only chips as it single handedly repelled Zhull's attacks. "A little help?!"

Thistle and Narani moved back, drawing what ranged weapons they had - Thistle nocking another arrow and Narani revealing a set of throwing knives - as Ibuun moved forward to help.

But amid the echos of the ghoulish scream from the scarecrow, other sounds began to emerge. The rustling of a myriad of dark wings descended on Zhull and Ibuun as she attempted to move closer. A murder of ravens, cawing and screaming in a zealous anger pecked and scratched at both of them in numbers that made the flock seem like its own living thing, rather than many individual. Ibuun and Zhull batted around helplessly - Zhull with his longsword and Ibuun with a heavy mace - cutting and knocking down a few birds as they flew by, but barely making a dent in the number of ravens piercing and scratching at them.

The opening gave the scarecrow the chance to bash Zhull out of the way with a wave of its wooden arm, taking a few shuddering steps away from the group, continuing to drag Jeremy along with it. He continued to claw at the dirt for anything that would give him purchase, but the soil was soft and pure and offered nothing to hold him still.

"It is getting away!" Narani called. She threw two of her knives at the scarecrow, but they were lost in the dark flock, never reaching their mark.

Thistle was tracking it with her bow, a bead of sweat rolling from her temple, chest rising and falling.

"Shoot!" Narani shouted. Thistle seemed to blink, take a steadying breath and fire, but the arrow also went wide, lost to the darkness of the birds flying around. Zhull and Ibuun continued to bring more of them down, but there were always still more to take the place of the fallen as the scarecrow trudged further away.

"These damned birds!" Thistle bit out, gripping her bow with white-knuckles. Inside the swarm of ravens, Zhull and Ibuun both had shields held up against the onslaught, backs pressed together to protect one another.

"What are we going to do?!" Zhull asked. He had to shout to be heard over the screeching and beating of wings against them. Behind him, Ibuun breathed deep, emitting a jet of cold mist from her long nose.

"Enough!" She stood from where she was, breaking their cover. Though the ravens renewed the force of their attack, Ibuun stood stalwart amongst them. With a snarl, she raised the shield in front of her, though not to defend herself. The other hand raised the mace and with a powerful swing, she drove the mace into the metal of her own shield, her eyes casting a strange, internal light.

What emerged was not the sound of the metal mace clashing with the metal and wood of the shield, but rather the clear, haunting note of a bell, large and looming as though rung from a church belfry. There was no way for a shield such as hers to produce such a note, yet it rang true, loud enough for the rest of the group to feel it vibrate all the way through them, rattling their teeth.

Around them, the birds scattered for a moment, stunned by the ethereal sound. Ibuun took the opportunity to take a long, deep breath and release. A chilling blast of frozen breath rushed from her maw, her mouth glowing faintly blue through the dark of the night. It spread out from her through the air, freezing some of the ravens mid-flap, many of them falling to the ground and breaking into smaller pieces as they became frozen solid. Others fluttered off into the night, abandoning the flock to avoid their fate.

Ibuun huffed out a jet of steam from her nostrils, looking to the others.

"Now's your chance!"

The blast of cool air seemed to shake Thistle from some private thought. She loosed an arrow through the opening in the flock, piercing into the scarecrow's body again up near the arm that was holding Jeremy. There was a snap as something came undone from within its body, the arm hanging weakly from its frame even as it continued to cling to Jeremy's nightshirt.

Narani rushed forward through the opening, throwing out another dagger. It landed with a thud near Thistle's arrow, piercing through and severing whatever was left of that part of the arm entirely. The arm went limp and released its grip. Jeremy took the chance and began to crawl away, stumbling to his feet.

The scarecrow tried to turn to catch it with the other arm, but Zhull was already standing in its way.

"Hands off! Your fight's with me now!" He slashed up, then down, shearing clean through the burlap of its body, sending a cascade of straw into the air. Though it staggered backward from the impact, he lurched back forward, throwing its one arm out and clawing at Zhull. He turned in time for it to merely gouge down the side of his armored shoulder, but the force was enough to send him reeling. All the while it seemed to chuckle to itself in endless dark amusement, even while its body was in tatters.

Or it did, until Narani stepped around Zhull. From her belt, she pulled out a curved hook attached to a long rope. She reached out with it through the hole Zhull had cut, punching all the way through the body to the other side before pulling back. She hooked around the central wooden rod that made up the backbone of the scarecrow beneath the sack. The scarecrow tried to recoil but was trapped against Narani's grip. One arm searched around for a way to free itself, but with the hook wedged inside it, there was nowhere it could reach easily to help. Even its hiss of frustration sounded like a silent laugh.

It quickly gave up trying to free itself, head turning with quick, furtive twitches. Jeremy had managed to find his feet, running to meet Thistle as she moved forward. He dodged behind her and hid while she kept her bow trained on the scarecrow. It took a lurching step toward her, hissing again when it came up short, Narani holding it fast. It gave another shriek that split the night. Jeremy covered his ears and above them, the sound of flapping swings began to descend once more. Thistle raised her bow while Zhull stepped back in front of the scarecrow.

"I said your fight's with me!" The scarecrow tried to raise its other hand, but Zhull was too fast. He took a two-handed, horizontal slash at a run, cleaving the burlap head from the body with the sound of scraping metal. Moments of stillness passed before the body slowly crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Above them, the ravens cawed at each other in confusion, then turned and rose back into the darkened night.

~~

They consoled Jeremy as best they could until they made it back to the house with him. Upon seeing Hilda, he dashed from behind Thistle's cloak to her, both meeting in a tight embrace on the back porch.

"Are you okay?"

"Yea... They saved me," Jeremy said meekly. He was another halfling, a very small child with sandy blond hair like his mother, though his eyes were dark where hers were light. Behind them, the other children were watching from the doorway, small heads barely poking around the door frame.

Hilda looked up from Jeremy after a few moments, scanning their faces.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I don't know... I couldn't-"

"It's fine," said Thistle with her usual curtness. The rest of them gave encouraging smiles.

"Happy to help," Zhull said. "Is that something that happens a lot around here?"

"Never," said Hilda. Jeremy was sniffling into her shoulder and she held him closer. "Like I said, things have been going missing from time to time. A few of us have seen some things late at night moving around town, but nothing like that. Nothing that sounded like that." Her eyes wandered passed them to Bertram's farm, but Zhull shook his head.

"Wasn't him. We were just up in his barn. Already has a scarecrow. If someone took it, I don't see why it would have been him." Hilda nodded, but her face didn't seem convinced.

As they were speaking, Narani made his way over, kneeling the rest of the way to Jeremy's height.

"I would speak to you, child," she said in her direct way. Hilda looked a bit confused.

"He's been through a lot tonight."

"It would only be a moment."

Reluctantly, Hilda released Jeremy from her embrace. He turned, wiping his face with soiled hands, leaving dirt smudges on his cheeks.

Narani reached out and put both her hands on his shoulders.

"You have done battle with a strange evil this night and have come out the victor."

"But I didn't fight it," said Jeremy, sniffing. "I was so scared. And I just ran away."

"You called for help. We could see you were doing everything you could to escape, which you succeeded in doing. Though you could have run all the way back to the house once you were free, you remained until the monster was slain. Not many who have gone through what you have tonight would have had the resolve to do so." Narani carefully took the boy's hands, placing a finger in the caked-on soil. With it she drew a line down his forehead, with three prongs that curled up at the top.

"Thus I bestow you with the sigil of Sylvanus, for it is his strength, the power of nature, that you called upon to save you. This mark will show to others that you have endured a great battle and succeeded. It shall also protect your dreams. Walk with pride, and Sylvanus watch over you."

Jeremy's eyes were crossed as he attempted to see the mark on his forehead. Failing that, he set his chubby jaw and nodded with the grim attention of a soldier before turning to his mother.

"I love you, Mom. Good night," he said, voice trembling only a little as he gave his best straight-backed march to the house, where he was received with honors by his siblings who immediately set upon him with questions of his ferocious battle with the scarecrow.

Hilda sighed and gave a tired smile. "Thank you. I don't know if any of them will sleep tonight, but I think that will help. You have children?"

"I do," she said. She did not return her smile.

~~

They were once again awoken from their sleep in the barn the next morning by raised voices. Early morning light pierced through the boards of the barn, making Zhull wince when he opened his eyes and looked directly into the sun.

"This has got to stop."

"For a sleepy town," Thistle deadpanned, "there's surprisingly little sleep happening." She stepped down from the windowsill where she had spent the night as Narani climbed back in through the window from the rooftop.

"There is something amiss in town?" she asked.

"Must be from last night," said Ibuun. "We should probably go explain."

They made their way out of Bertram's barn, making their way around to the path that lead down to his gate when they heard the voices more clearly.

"Come on oot, Bertram, ye auld ghost! Ye've bewitched this town for the last time! Get down 'ere and face judgment for yer wickedness!" The voice was gruff and painfully loud. All of them stopped walking and peeked around the side of the barn.

At the bottom of the path, outside the little rusted gate, a small crowd had gathered in the morning light. In front of them, a dark-haired dwarf with short, braided beard cupped his hands to his mouth.

"No use hidin' from us, Bertram! We've all day! Either ye come down or we'll storm yer house! Come down, now!"

"We thought that it was not Bertram's fault, did we not? We should tell them,' Narani said. Thistle put a hand to stop her out and shook her head.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for them to see us coming down from Bertram's if they're blaming him for last night. He's mean, but I just don't get the feeling it's him," said Zhull. "But we should go talk to them. Let's circle around and come down the other hill and meet them there."

"I do not see why that matters," Narani muttered. "What would it matter that they see us with him? He has done nothing wrong."

"They don't know that," Zhull replied. "We don't know that, but I have a feeling."

Carefully, they made their way around to the other side of the hill and descended where they wouldn't be observed, circling around the back of the group.

"This is your last warnin', Bertram. It's either us or the torch! Don't die a coward!"

"We're really about to burn down a house?" Zhull asked. The townspeople started and turned to face them as one. It was clear that Colomon's was mainly populated with smaller races: halflings, gnomes, and a dwarf or two, including the dark-haired man that had been shouting.

"Aye, we do. It's got less than nothin' to do with ye and yer kin, swords-orc. We seek justice, as is our right."

Narani made to say something, but Zhull put out a hand to stop her. Ibuun stood beyond Zhull, Thistle crossing her arms and leaning against a nearby tree in the shade.

"I think its the business of everyone in earshot when a town is thinking about burning down someone's home. What are you seeking justice for?"

"What's it to ye?" asked the dwarf. "Who even are ye lot?"

"Travelers for hire. I'm Zhull. This is Ibuun, Narani, and-"

"Jennifer," said Thistle.

"Right, Jennifer. And you are?"

"Gedric," replied the dwarf. "And we seek justice for the break in at Hilda Stockstead's house last night and the abduction of her wee lad. It's our right as a community to bring the man responsible to justice."

"I assume you mean this Bertram. How do you know it was him?"

"He's a very suspicious man, Bertram. Stays up until all hours of the night, workin' his fields by lantern light like some kind of ghoul. Things have been goin' missin' in town from people's stores. Tools and other things. Some of us have even seen him skulkin' around at night."

"Have you asked him directly about these claims?" Ibuun asked.

"O'course we have, but anyone would deny it. And if he wields some dark magic capable of bringing a stolen scarecrow to life, it isna safe to be near him. Better to put the house to the torch and have done with it." Gedric turned to his fellow townspeople. "We willna let him take our children in the night!" Gedric was followed by a chorus of consenting shouts and jeers.

"You mean this scarecrow?" Zhull asked, at which point he reached into his bag and revealed the horrific burlap visage of the scarecrow they had fought from the previous night. The townspeople, including the group around Zhull, all recoiled.

"Goodness..." muttered Ibuun.

"Did you actually keep that ghastly thing?" Thistle asked.

"Of course," Zhull said, beating a bit of dust from the face. "It was our first fight together, and we're going to be traveling a bit together yet. I wanted a trophy."

"So t'was you that slew the fiend," said Gedric. "That must make you lot who Hilda was referrin' to. Ye have our thanks, but then ye should be as angry as we are that Bertram would do this to us."

"Except we don't think he did," Zhull replied. "We were staying in Bertram's barn last night to sleep under a roof. Bertram still has his scarecrow inside. We all saw it. Why would he steal it if he already had one that he could bring to life?"

The townspeople all exchanged a look of concern, but Gedric looked unmoved.

"That doesn'a mean he doesn'a still plan to. When it comes to wielders of dark magics, who knows what shadowy ways they operate by? Only that he was a fool to take ye in last night when ye would be the ones to stop his evil plan."

"It's not that we don't sympathize with what's happened," Ibuun interjected, stepping forward. "It's that you're seriously talking about burning down someone's home without that much evidence and no intention of finding more."

"If we don't act now, our town, our children are in danger!"

Behind the rest of the group, Thistle had only been half listening to their conversation. This was the kind of argument that was doomed from the beginning. The people would do what they saw fit - there certainly wasn't anything a group of even well-to-do outsiders could to stop them if they had their minds set. Rather, she had been watching the house on the hill, thinking perhaps she ought to say something to the old man before his house went up. Or even to look herself beforehand, just so that she would know before they left.

While the others continued to argue, she slipped around to the back of the tree silently and began to make her way up the hill.

Before she had made it to the porch, she could tell that the space in the curtains from the night before was still there. She glanced behind her back down the hill to make sure no one was watching her. When she was sure that they were too focused on the rest of the group and the sight of the scarecrow head, she knocked on the door.

It took a long time, almost a minute of waiting before she began to hear the soft sounds of the door unlocking from behind. Finally, the door barely opened. In the crack between the door and the frame, the head of a crossbow bolt poked out.

"I think it'd be best if ye'd go back down the hill, miss. For yer sake," Bertram said, his voice cordial and cold.

"They're going to burn your house down," Thistle said carefully, though she didn't move from where she was standing. "Thought you ought to know."

"Oh, why thank you. I thought they were shoutin' my praises down there."

"If you know that, why aren't you leaving? You don't have anything to say in your defense?"

"Nothin' that they'd listen to. They've already made their peace with what they plan to do with me. Runnin' or arguin' would just make it worse. Torchin' the house might be the best thing they could do."

"I highly doubt you'll think that whilst your inside it."

"Ye don't know me, miss. Ye can take your leave."

"Try me."

"Why do ye care?"

"I don't. Tell me anyway."

There was a long pause, in which there was only Thistle, the crossbow bolt, the shadow beyond the door, and the sound of birds chirping in the morning. Thistle had almost forgotten the bolt was there by the time Bertram brought it back inside the crack of the door, though he didn't open it any further.

"Know anythin' 'bout the war?" he asked gruffly.

"Between Ecoa and Juzari? Only that it was a long time ago."

"I been around a long time. I started as a scout for Ecoa back when they was takin' Gnomish recruits. By the end of the war I defected, somethin' that I don't think sits right with Gedric down there."

Thistle leaned back against the door frame and crossed her arms. "That why you two are such good friends?"

"Good enough for him to want to burn me outta my house, of course." There was a small chuckle, then a few long heartbeats of silence.

"I saw some things," Bertram continued, voice thick, "while I was scoutin'. On both sides. It can be hard when you're the first person there, when no one's been by a battlefield for an encampment yet. No one's cleaned up or made anything look regal or heroic-like. It's... messy business." Thistle's brow knit together, a tightness pulling at her chest. "Even years later, I don't sleep much. Most nights I'm up 'til dawn. It makes these folk here nervous, but it ain't none of their business."

"Shock from war is no reason to be stealing from your neighbors. Especially when you could be stealing from richer folk like a proper thief. You have the skill set for it, as a scout," Thistle remarked.

"T'wasn't me. What use do I have for someone else's tools when I can make my own? And I ain't no mage or nothin',"

"You don't have proof?"

"None they'd believe. They don't like that I keep to myself. Or that they see me up late. Gedric most of all. Small towns is like that. Everyone talks."

"So leave," Thistle said flatly. She kicked off the wall and made to leave but felt something brush her hand. She glanced over her shoulder to see the rough outstretched hand of Bertram. She could only see part of his face from where she was, but the eyes were tired from many long nights. Tired and sad.

"I wandered around a fair bit when the war was over, sellin' my skills to the highest bidder to make a livin'. I saved everythin' I made from my service and whatever I could make as a merc and bought this little farm in this quiet, do-nothin' town just so I could get away. I ain't never gonna have a peaceful night's rest for the rest of my days, but it's quiet here. I tend my crops, mind my animals. It's peaceful. A change from a life of turmoil and fightin'." Bertram met Thistle's eyes, hardened like the rest of him. "I ain't done what they say I did, but I will not leave this house. This is my last respite... whether that means from old age or townsfolk is up to them."


	6. The Graveyard

Thistle returned to where the group was still arguing with the townspeople at the bottom of the drive in time to hear Gedric on his last nerve.

"Ye've a kind heart, soldier," he was saying to Zhull, "but we canna wait any longer. We willna wait. Bertram will answer for his crimes one way or the other!" The rest of the town jeered, waving torches and pitchforks in the morning light.

"Is there really nothing we can say?" Zhull asked.

"Ye canna even deny that he might have done it! Just because there was a scarecrow in his barn doesna mean he couldn't find one elsewhere for his evil purposes!"

"He didn't do it," Thistle remarked. She had taken up her place leaning against the tree again, arms crossed, one leg kicked back as though she had never moved. Gedric had to peek past Zhull to get a better look at her.

"Oh? And what makes you so sure?"

"I just am. If I were you, I'd be ashamed of myself."

"What's that, lass?" he asked through gritted teeth. The dwarf took a step forward, his chest puffed out.

Thistle leveled her most baleful glare from beneath her hood. Gedric stopped his advance.

"N-now lass," he said, clearing his throat, "if ye don't have proof-"

"Twenty-hour hours," she cut in.

"Was that?"

"You give us today and tonight to find proof that will satisfy you and your posse. By then, we'll have your culprit and you all will have to apologize and leave an old man to his devices."

"We don't have no day and night to wait-"

"No, I like that idea," Zhull replied, crossing his arms. "Just to be clear, if you plan on seeking justice and all, you'll have cleared this with the Empire, am I right?"

"Beg yer pardon?"

"It's the job of the magistrates to administer justice under imperial law. You might be a bit out of the way, but you would still have a magistrate on this side of the border. I'm sure you've alerted them about your plans?"

"Well... no-"

"Because if you didn't, that might reflect poorly on a magistrate, that they allowed a group of townspeople to govern themselves, as though they weren't part of the Empire. Such a magistrate would probably take some great pains to bring a town like this back in line. They also decide the tax rate, correct?" he asked, glancing back over his shoulder to Ibuun.

"Last I heard, they did," she replied.

"Enough!" Gedric said. There was a vein pulsing in his temple, his face red despite the cool morning. "Enough. Fine. If ye really feel so broken-hearted over that old man's fate then it's in your hands. Ye've until tomorrow morning to find out who the real culprit is. In the meantime, we'll be gettin' in contact with the regional magistrate, asking for emergency provisions in order to administer our own justice. So long as we seek his permission, unneeded though it be, he won't want to come all the way out here for something so small when we can handle it. We have an accord?"

The group to each other in turn, giving small nods of ascent.

"We have a deal." Zhull said. He and Gedric shook on it.

~~

They watched the rest of the townspeople disperse before discussing the matter any further.

"Reminds me of back home," Zhull said, scratching the back of his head. "How are you so sure he didn't do it, Thistle?"

"I just am."

"No offense, I'm a little surprised you care."

"I don't. I just want to prove them wrong."

"It's that important to you?" asked Ibuun.

"Completely worth it."

"Fair enough," Zhull said. "If we're committed, then we're committed. Where do we start?"

"It seemed clear to me," Narani said, now hanging from the tree Thistle was leaning against, "that the scarecrow that took the child was headed somewhere specific. It is also possible that it was following its own trail toward some end that we may be able to find."

"Sounds like a good idea," said Ibuun.

"I wish we could just ask it," Zhull mused, examining the burlap face in his hand.

Thistle's frown deepened. "You really should dispose of that ghastly thing."

"I said I'm keeping it and that's that..." he said, trailing off while he turned it over. His fingers probed something on the outside, then he reached in and fished around.

"What are you doing?"

"There's something in here," he replied. There was a tearing sound as Zhull retracted his hand to reveal a small gem, about the size of an eyeglass lens, clear and translucent. It refracted the light into a spectrum of colors around them.

"Our friend had a secret," he mused, turning the gem over.

"What would a scarecrow be doing with a gem like that inside its head?" Ibuun asked, eyes wide as she peered over Zhull's shoulder. Her pupils were dilated and her leg was suddenly bouncing.

"Maybe it stole it too? They did complain that someone was stealing things."

"These people are too poor for something like this," Thistle remarked.

Zhull shrugged. "Someone could have a cache."

"I find that unlikely. Do you mind if I see it?" Thistle asked. Zhull only hesitated for a moment above Thistle's hand before placing it in her palm, Ibuun's eyes tracking it the whole way.

Thistle turned it over a few times, waving her hands over it, then lifting it up to her eye. "Whatever it is, it's magical."

"It's enchanted?" he asked.

"Yes, with something. This seems familiar. Do you mind if I toy with it for a few?" Zhull raised an eyebrow, and Thistle's shoulders slumped. "If I'm wrong, you can have it back."

Zhull nodded and they began to head toward the Stockstead home.

Looking at the house in the warm morning light, it would be hard to guess that anything extraordinary could have happened only a few hours ago. The only sign of something different were the two gnomes that were busy fitting new glass windows where the broken ones had been as Hilda watched in grim concentration. She waved as the group approached, giving a tired smile. She'd not slept as well as any of the group the previous night.

"Good morning."

"Morning, Miss Stockstead. How's Jeremy?" Ibuun asked.

"As good as he can be," she said. "No one slept, but he was more excited than anything. Figured it was his duty now to watch over the house in case the 'fiend' returned."

"He is a brave child," Narani said. "More so than I would have been at his size. We're going to get to the bottom of this."

Hilda stood up straighter. "It might be dangerous, and we're all strangers. You don't need to put yourselves at risk when we have the Empire."

"They won't be out here in time," Zhull remarked. "It's the least we can do."

Hilda's face softened. "You're all very kind. Be careful, whatever you do."

There was a silent nod from all of them and they began to make their way back toward the orchard.

Narani had been correct - there certainly was a trail. The dragging steps of the scarecrow had gouged a line into soil as it lurched that was easy enough to follow. But at the point where it had been defeated, there didn't appear to be anything else to see. Above them, the sky was beginning to cloud over with the possibility of a storm later that day.

"We need to hurry," Narani remarked, watching the sky. "If there is rain then we will lose the trail." She got down lower than she usually was, eyes hunting along the ground for some kind of sign.

"There is something," she commented.

"There really is a trail?" Zhull asked.

"Something like it, faint but there. Someone else was walking this way, not that long ago. Someone taller than the people I have seen in town, their footsteps sink deeper into the soil. I am just not certain we would be able to follow the trail if we lose the light."

Behind them, Thistle was still fiddling with the gem.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. She'd placed it up to her eye to get a better look.

Zhull turned. "Is it really magic?"

"Oh yes," she said, blinking. "I can see... everything." Or what she might consider 'everything'. When the light had been fading around them, now she could see as though the sun were fully out. Stranger still, Thistle could see strange, alien creatures floating around them, as though suspended in water. Somewhere small and insectoid, others long and serpentine. They faded in and out of visibility, drifting through the air, unaware of anyone of them standing in the orchard. One of the longer ones seemed to swim directly through Zhull, back to front, though he didn't seem to notice.

"Everything okay?"

"Yes... it just takes some getting used to." Though the strange, ethereal creatures were distracting, they weren't the most interesting thing of all. Before them, and moving on into the distance beyond the orchard, Thistle could see something trailing along the ground, an eerie radiance clinging to the ground almost in the shape of footprints. They shuffled away from them toward the wilderness, with fainter paths leading behind them into town. "Suspicious..."

"What do you see?"

"Something magical," she said. "It leads back into town, then keeps moving on in front of us. Someone was here, but more recently left. For this little town, I'm willing to bet whatever's been causing this is at the end of the trail."

"Makes sense to me," replied Zhull. "I'm not that great with magic. Keep the gem and lead on."

"I will keep the trail until we cannot see it any longer," Narani said. From her bag, she revealed a small hooded lantern that she hung from her tail, lighting the candle within and then hanging it over herself to light the path in front of her. "We do not have much time."

~~

The orchard exited onto a vast expanse of untamed woods, overgrown and choked with trees, bushes, and tall grass. As the day waned into the afternoon, so did the light as the clouds overhead boxed them in, making the woods feel even more oppressive.

"Just checking," Ibuun muttered as they continued, squinting at the ground as she stepped lightly through the tall grass, "we all agree that Bertram didn't do this, right?"

"We would not be doing this otherwise," Narani replied, deftly moving through the tall grass as though she were traversing a paved path. The lantern bobbed on her tail like a merry conductor.

"Having second thoughts?" Thistle asked. She was also in the lead with Narani. Over the past few hours, she had taken pieces of copper wire and fixed them around her head to hold the gem so she still had use of her hands. "I assumed you'd have some sort of 'divine insight', or some such nonsense. You are a priestess, after all?"

"Initiate, but sure," Ibuun replied, jumping a bit when her short tail bumped into a nearby tree and sent birds erupting from the top branches. When the noise died away, she sighed. "I have a feeling he didn't, but I suppose that feeling is not as strong for the rest of you."

"He's a soldier," Zhull remarked confidently, stumbling his own way through the dark with far less caution.

"How do you know?" Thistle asked, turning to look at Zhull for the first time since they left. "And why would that even matter?"

"He's got the bearing. Soldiers can tell among one another. And as a soldier, he conducts himself with honor."

Thistle scoffed, turning back toward the trail and shaking her head.

Zhull frowned. "You just said a few hours ago that he didn't do it with a certainty that could peel paint. Now you're having second thoughts?"

"I always maintain a healthy amount of skepticism, but no, he didn't do it."

"You don't like that he served?"

"I couldn't care less. But to believe that all soldiers act with 'honor' is beyond naive."

"Easy to say, for someone who hasn't served." Zhull said, voice gruff.

Thistle carefully stepped up and over a log, leaping down on the other side. "I've never met anyone that couldn't be bought for the right price. Bertram is only as 'honorable' as his situation allows and no more. Being a soldier only means he's strong enough to violently disagree with anyone that questions his honor, if he believes he has any."

"Sounds to me like a grim view for a grim person," Zhull remarked, shouldering a tree branch aside.

If Thistle understood his aggression, she didn't acknowledge it. She ducked under a bough that had snapped and was leaning precariously against the tree it had fallen from while Narani skipped over the top, light still bouncing off her tail.

"Coin turns the world, not ideals. For you, learning that lesson will be especially painful."

Zhull laughed. "I can handle pain. But I wonder how you're going to feel when you see something truly honorable." Thistle turned back with a frown. When Zhull just shrugged, she turned and continued on without adding anything more.

~~

Afternoon faded into inky night by the time they had followed the trail to the first noticeable landmark other than woodland; a dilapidated stone wall with rusted rod-iron atop. Stones had become unstable and tumbled out as the ground below had shifted, rising in some places and falling in others. They followed the ethereal trail of magical residues and tracks until they came to a section that had completely crumbled out, leaving a space barely wide enough for someone to pass through. Narani tucked herself even smaller and squeezed through without hesitation, followed by Thistle and Ibuun, Zhull scraping in at the rear.

There were much fewer trees beyond the wall. A break in the canopy allowed weak moonlight to fall before them, illuminating an old, meandering graveyard in ghostly light.

"Weird place for a graveyard," Zhull remarked.

"Not necessarily," replied Ibuun. Her claws dug into the soil, and she looked over the expanse with the discerning eye as though she owned the property. "Judging by the stone work and the general layout of the buried, this was probably one of Colomon's first graveyards, set far away from the town to ensure they had enough space and distance to prevent the spread of disease. When a town administers to their own dead, then the layout is random because they bury wherever they can find space, rather than with a church or sanctioned ground where you find neat little rows. Probably when they started to run into the natural barrier of the forest and ran out of room, they started burying somewhere else, and this graveyard was forgotten for a new sanctioned one. But it's so far away so there's no risk of spreading disease or dangerous things that would pillage graves."

Only when she was finished did Ibuun come back to herself enough to see the group's varying faces of confusion. Her cheeks flushed a deep blue and her shoulders hunched. "Sorry. I just know a lot about graveyards."

"Makes sense," Zhull remarked. "Is there still a trail to follow?"

Narani dropped her tail lantern closer to the ground to look. "Barely, but yes. Do you see anything Thistle?"

"Someone has been busy here," she replied, scanning the graves through her gem. For her, there were many interwoven trails in view that led up and down the meandering, random paths.

Zhull kept his voice lower. "Maybe they're here then. Spread out and see if you find anything." They each took separate paths. Narani and Thistle stuck to the low ground while Zhull and Ibuun took separate hills, climbing around the graves that hung on the slopes. Atop some of the hills were more expensive looking tombs. Ibuun's head was on a swivel, looking for inscriptions and engravings.

"The mausoleums would have been too expensive for the farmers to afford, I would think," she said, partly to Zhull some ways away, partly to herself. "They might have belonged to the original landowners of the town before the empire took it over. These would have been dedications to Pelor, or maybe Melora, depending on how old-"

"That's all really interesting," Zhull interjected, "but could you tell us more when we're not actively looking for someone?"

"Sorry," she said, blushing again. "It's just so fascinating. Did you find anything?"

"Not yet," Narani said, perched atop one of the graves. They had combed over half of it without seeing anything more extraordinary than people's final resting places.

Ibuun turned the corner of one of the mausoleums, finding another smaller grave with recently turned soil. At first she thought it was a recent burial, but came up short before turning away. She had said herself this plot of land was forgotten - she hadn't expected to find any new burials, and no one else had found any so far. She bent over it, examining it more closely.

Ibuun noticed something amiss immediately. She was used to seeing the packed earth of a newly interned, the spade marks over the top where the dirt had been slapped into a hardened shell. This dirt was still loose, with spade marks around the edges. Each gravedigger had their own style depending on how they were built physically, but nothing like this.

Someone had been exhumed here, not buried.

"Thistle? Is there a trail that leads up here?" Ibuun called behind her. Thistle only had to turn her head for a moment.

"Yes. Why?" she asked.

"This one just looks off," she replied. She closed her eyes and concentrated, breathing deeply and exhaling slowly. When she opened her eyes again, they were glowing with new sight.

"What are you doing?" Zhull asked, his voice low with wonder.

"Eyes of the Grave, a technique passed down to all initiates. It helps us detect necromancy and undeaAAAH!" She never finished her thought, for she beheld the subject of her explanation.

It was true that through her new sight she could detect the presence of those affected by necromancy. It was especially useful then when she peered down and saw the essences through the dirt, where there was definitely a humanoid shape writhing up through the dirt toward them. Only moments later, a withered hand burst through the soil, clawing at the surface with broken nails. Another hand emerged as a risen dead began to pull itself from the depths of the grave with a hungry fervor. The face was shriveled and desiccated from being buried, one dried eyeball sunken all the way back in its head while the other swiveled furiously in the socket, yellow and red and caked with pus.

Upon locking this ancient eyeball on Ibuun, it groaned and hissed with renewed hunger, wrenching itself free of the grave and lunging for her. She had just enough time to step out of the way, wherein the zombie overstepped the lip of the hill and fell down it, tumbling and landing in a broken heap at the bottom. It's neck was bent at an unnatural angle, yet it still managed to correct its body with snapping bones and tearing muscles until it could move and rise up again.

"What did you do?!" shouted Thistle.

Narani was backing up, looking around with the light of the lantern. "Not her, us. Look!" she called. Around them, other graves were beginning to bulge, sprouting new undead like daisies. Up on the other hill with a mausoleum there was the sound of whistling before an arrow thudded into the ground near Narani's feet. A skeletal figure stepped out from behind the masonry, holding an ancient, decrepit bow and a quiver of rotting arrows. Around the other mausoleums, more began to emerge from the shadows, bringing their rotted bows to bare. Bowstrings complained as they were pulled taught and Thistle barely had enough time to shout, "Cover!" and duck behind a gravestone before a hail of arrows showered around them.

Zhull ducked behind the masonry atop the hills to take scope of the battlefield. Three archers, five undead, two of them atop the hills and three down below with Thistle and Narani.

Remove or distract the archers to unpin Thistle and Narani.

Protect Ibuun to ensure she can cast spells.

To do that, he needed to get to her on the opposite hill, sixty feet away with a ten foot trough between them at the narrowest point.

An archer and undead were in the way of that path.

Remove them.

Zhull stepped out from cover after the archer had fired another arrow. Neither it nor the undead had seen him. Zhull wasn't sure if the undead was surprised to have a sword brought straight down its back - it didn't show it. Rather, it moaned in agony before wheeling around and swiping at Zhull with swollen hands, trying to knock him over. Zhull blocked with his shield, shoving back and slashing again across the chest. It fell back and lay still.

Then twitched and pulled itself to its feet.

"Oh hell..." he groaned, hefting his shield and rolling his shoulder. The skeleton turned, apparently hearing the noise despite a lack of ears on its skull, nocking an arrow and firing. Zhull put up his shield time, feeling the arrow pierce deep into the wood.

"Ibuun! The archers!" Zhull shouted.

"Got it!" she called. Like Zhull, there was an undead blocking her from reaching the skeleton who was busy trying to hit Thistle and Narani below. She snarled and rushed forward, angrier than the others had seen her before, drawing forth her mace with one hand, the other clutching her shield. She bashed into the undead with the shield, then swung hard with the mace. The undead took the blow, one that might have crumpled a living person, but that merely seemed to gain its attention. It threw its body against the shield, forcing Ibuun to push it back with a growl, slamming her mace into the shield itself.

The emblem on the front glowed with a pale light and again the sound of a tolling church bell shattered the silence of the night. Though the corpse was missing most of its ear, it clutched the sides of its head, its howl of pain lost to the resonant noise. Its eyes clouded over and it fell to the ground, tumbling over the side of the hill and falling to the paths below.

"So that's what that's like," she muttered, before a glancing blow slid from her spaulder, gliding across the flesh of her arm and coming away with blue blood. She hissed and turned, the skeleton standing behind her wielding a curved shortsword. She had enough time to raise her shield and protect against another blow before she heard something whistling past her, an arrow lodging itself into the rib cage, splintering the old bone. A throwing knife followed, piercing deep into the spinal column and separating the top half from the bottom. The skeleton hissed before coming apart at the joint, tumbling to the ground in a pile of lifeless bones. Ibuun waved from the hill down below.

"Thank you!" she called to Thistle and Narani, though she wasn't sure if they planned on responding when they had to take cover again from another volley of arrows from the four other archers around them.

"This is not going to work!" Narani said next to Thistle. "We are pinned down."

"I can see that," she replied. Her face went from annoyed to surprised and she pointed behind Narani. "Look out!"

Narani had just enough time to get out of the way of the fists of another undead lurching and swinging, trying to knock Narani down. She dodged up and over the gravestone with barely enough space to duck behind another before another arrow shattered across it. She dodged another swing as the undead reached over the top, uppercutting it in the chin before laying on the ground to let another arrow fly over her.

"I cannot fight like this! Take out those archers up there!" She called, rolling out of the way of the undead. It stumbled forward and tried to land on top of her, but caught a dagger in the middle from Thistle standing over top of Narani before it could. She pushed it back with what strength she had, knocking it to the ground before it hissed and rose again, mid-section now askew.

"Gross..." she grimaced, ducking out of the way of another pair of fists. Another undead was encroaching from behind. With the two of them on either side and having to keep low, both Narani and Thistle both took blows to the back before spinning around each other, kicking the undead out of the way to make more space, rubbing at the sore spots on their backs.

Above them Zhull was stuck behind his shield while another undead battered away against the wood hungrily. From behind, there was suddenly a corona of light. Zhull pulled the shield away for a moment to see the remnants of a glittering ray of light begin to dissipate from where it had been fired from Ibuun into the undead's back, searing the flesh to the point of glowing. Zhull sidestepped another arrow from the skeleton aiming at him with a smile, bringing the sword down on top of the undead's stunned body, cleaving down from shoulder to hip. The undead fell apart in a splash of gore to the ground before Zhull planted the blade firmly in its head before it could attempt to get back up again.

Free to move, Zhull rushed the skeleton near him as it nocked another arrow. He reached out and grabbed the arrow and the bowstring, preventing it from firing. He looked over his shoulder at the other hilltop with the remaining archer and shouted, "Hey! Look what I can do!" It watched through dark sockets as Zhull shoved the bow into the face of the archer until the string was over its head. He then wrenched it toward him, forcing the skeleton into the blade of his sword and swinging it through until he was left holding the broken, rotted bow and the sword - half of the skeleton hanging limply from the string before it broke.

The archer hissed and fired at Zhull. He held up the shield, but misjudged the distance. It glanced off the side of the shield but still landed into his shoulder. With hiss of pain he folded back behind his shield. "Narani! Thistle! Now's your chance!"

Thistle sheathed the dagger and pulled out her bow. "Narani! Cover me!"

With two undead to choose from, Narani chose both. She jumped directly on to one as the other lurched forward, rotting teeth gnashing. While she grappled with one, she planted a foot into the face of the other. She carefully wrapped a tail around the neck of the first, hanging suspended while she traded blows with the other to hold it back.

The archer above only noticed the commotion happening below as Thistle carefully took aim and fired. The arrow drove itself deep into its empty socket, propelling the head clean from the neck. The rest of the body collapsed.

"Finally," Thistle huffed. In front of her, Narani had retrieved her dagger from her belt, tail still wrapped around and braced against the first undead. One hand held the second's arm while she drove the dagger into its head with the other, pushing it to the ground. Her impromptu steed also fell, two arrows planted into the back of its head.

"Agreed," Narani said, carefully unwinding her tail from the fallen's neck. Before they could find the others, they were startled by the howls of the last two undead charging down from the hill above them, arms outstretched to them. Narani moved behind a gravestone while Thistle dropped her bow to draw her dagger, but both of them were overtaken by Zhull and Ibuun charging down from the opposite hill to meet them.

"We got it!" Zhull called as he passed them, taking a running leap over the gravestone, knocking one undead down with a thrust from his longsword that left it impaled in the soil.

Next to him, Ibuun caught the undead as it tried to leap over the gravestone to Narani, taking it in the middle with her mace and knocking it back to the ground. It scrabbled to rise, but Ibuun traced her claws in a circle. The ground around the undead began to radiate with warmth and light before bursting into a pure white flame, engulfing the undead with searing light.

It lasted only a moment, but when the angry howls died away, there was only a burnt husk left in its wake.

Silent shadows returned to the graveyard, leaving the four of them breathing hard, heartbeats in their ears. Above them, the owls and bats returned to hunting and the nightlife went back to their business.


	7. The Armory

"It's just common decency," Ibuun said, after she insisted that they take the time to rebury the risen.

"No one even remembers this boneyard exists," Thistle complained, after refusing to even touch a spade to assist in the reburying. "I don't need to remind you that we're on a bit of a schedule."

Ibuun continued shovel dirt over the grave, looking unperturbed. Across the graveyard, Zhull and Narani hefted another body into the ground, two coins covering its eyes. "Kelemvor would say to honor the dead," she intoned. "We don't have to fully rebury them, but they should be well into the ground before we leave. If someone had raised your body and then someone brought it back to rest, you would want them to take the time to put you back."

"I cannot honestly think of a more ghastly thing to say to someone in earnest," she muttered. "I wonder what Kelemvor would have to say about the wrongfully accused? Specifically those condemned to die at dawn? Is he as fond of untimely death as he is timely?"

Ibuun didn't respond immediately, but she dug faster. Her tone was more urgent when she finally replied, "We should hurry."

Not long after, when they had finished replacing the risen to the earth, they reconvened at the other end of the graveyard, following the trail of residual necromantic energies and faded tracks. At the opposite end of the graveyard there was a similar hole in the old stone wall.

"This one was chiseled out," Zhull remarked. "Someone took a pick to this."

"The trail keeps going afterward," Thistle remarked, reactivating the gem to look through it further ahead.

"Are you going to be able to do this forever now? This is pretty helpful," Zhull asked.

Thistle shook her head. "Limited use, I'm afraid. It only lasts a few minutes. Once this one is finished, there's probably magic left for one more use. Then it will have to recharge for a while."

"Then we should make haste," Narani said, scaling the wall and hopping down on the other side so they could use the gap. "We don't want to waste it."

~~

Another hour passed in silence as they made their way through the wood, watching the moonlight begin to touch the tops of the trees. They kept to themselves, afraid that any sound now might alert whatever they were following of their presence. The only thing that was said came from Thistle as the magic from her gem faded away at the end of it's duration.

"We're getting closer."

Around them, the woods had begun to close in around them. The small deer paths they had been following completely thinned out into total underbrush that they had to cut their way through. Creepers and vines hung down from all the surrounding trees, sometimes strangling out the other plant life. The ground underfoot became littered with briar, nettles, and needles that forced Narani to continue forward by hanging from the creepers themselves, moving from tree to tree. She came down occasionally to check the trail before returning above ground since she wasn't wearing boots.

Though the light was dim, several of them were more adapted than humans for seeing through the darkness at night. Zhull, Narani, and Thistle all could begin to see other shapes emerging from the shadows of the woods. Natural shapes yielded to geometric, purposeful shapes - long abandoned buildings that intertwined with the woods themselves. Small structures made homes for flower beds and weeds while some were completely full of vines as massive trees grew through their shattered rooftops. The forest began to thin, revealing a small clearing at the center of the small, forgotten settlement.

"This could be the remnants of the old town. One before they began to till the land," said Ibuun.

Narani had rejoined them on the ground once again as it began to clear, investigating the trail. "These tracks are the freshest yet," she said. "We're here."

At the center of the clearing, one of the entrance ways for a small structure had been reclaimed by the land, transforming it into a small knoll strangled with the roots of a massive gnarled tree. The roots parted for a singular dark doorway at its base, through which there was no light to see what lay beyond. The floor of the clearing was completely covered by the slowly decaying foliage fallen from the tree above, creating a damp carpet of leaves. Around them, the sounds of the woods were hushed and distant.

Ibuun gave a shudder. "This place is spooky."

"You seemed pretty at home in an abandoned cemetery," said Zhull.

"Dead people are great," Ibuun pointed out. "They've done all they can do. There are things much worse than a few dead bodies."

"You have a point," he replied, studying the entrance. "But we have a job to do. Everyone keep an eye on each other and stick together." They approached together, their footsteps quieted by the dead leaves.

"If there truly is something living here," Narani said as they walked, keeping her voice low, "it strikes me as odd that they would just have their doorway open for anyone to enter. There is not even a lock or anything else barring the way."

As they approached the doorway, Thistle's eyes scanned the ground. "That usually means that there's-STOP!" She threw out a hand and just in time to grab for Narani's tail as she stepped onto a fresh patch of leaves. Her foot seemed to slip through them, finding only open air on the other side. For twenty feet all around the doorway, the carpet of leaves fell away as the delicate balance of wires and mesh holding them up dropped into a deep pit below.

Though Thistle had a grip on her tail, it was only with one hand. Narani slipped through her fingers as gravity took her, and she fell twenty feet down into the trench. There was just enough time to pull her body into a ball before she impacted with wet mud, sliding and sloshing into the center of the pit.

"Narani!" Zhull yelled. Ibuun hit his arm and shushed him, but they both moved to the mouth of the pit.

"I am all right," they heard. She was covered in muck, but she was light. "We apelings are used to falling from trees."

"Well hold on. We'll reel you back up," he said, reaching into his packs for lengths of rope.

"No need to worry. I can get out myself. This trap was not designed to hold one such as me," she replied. She removed a now grimy rope from her own packs, attaching a grappling hook to the end before tossing it up and over the lip of the pit and into the dark entrance. It snagged on a piece of the rotting wooden framework and she slowly pulled herself the rest of the way up,climbing over animal bones and other unfortunate cadavers until she was standing, brown and muddy, in the opening.

"And what about the rest of us?" Thistle asked, judging the distance.

"Working on it," Zhull replied, patting Ibuun on the shoulder. "Help me with this log." One of the Nearby trees had been overtaken by the strangling roots of the larger tree above the entrance. Zhull removed a dagger and began to slice away at the roots while Ibuun set to it with her claws, ripping them away easily. In a moment, the felled tree was clear of roots, though it was a fair distance away from the gap.

"A little help?" Zhull asked, looking to Thistle.

She looked herself over once, holding her arms out in a helpless gesture, her eyebrow quirked. "You must be joking."

"I can help, don't worry," Ibuun said. She and Zhull bent their knees as he got his hands underneath it. They counted down together and lifted from either side. Zhull's came up slowly, but in a surprising feat of strength, Ibuun dug her claws in deep and hoisted it almost above his head. He was left a little wide-eyed from the display, a faint smile on his face.

"Impressive."

"Let's just set it down," she demurred. They brought it over slowly before raising it on one end, then shoving it over. It fell across the gap, impacting hard on the other side and forcing Narani out of the way. It sank half a foot into the ground before the entryway, but remained there.

"After you, Thistle," Zhull remarked.

Thistle stepped up to the lip of the tree, testing it with a nudge of her toe. Satisfied, she stepped up and began to walk across. Though the log was not entirely stable, she paced it's length with the ease of a tight-rope walker, stepping lightly off on the other side without a sound.

Following her example, Zhull stepped up next. Apparently, it was harder than she made it look - it only took him a few steps to nearly lose his footing and have to stop, catching himself before he fell. The log protested with a strained creak underfoot that made the rest of them wince. Hands splayed out, Zhull carefully lowered himself to the log, wrapping his arms around it and crawling the rest of the way with his weight spread out before rolling off on the other side, breathing heavily.

"I told you to leave that armor back in the Ward," Thistle remarked.

Zhull frowned, still lying on his back. "It's not healthy to hold a grudge for that long, I hope you know?"

"It's the only thing that's kept me alive this long."

"Then you need a new lease on life. Come on over, Ibuun," he called, getting to his feet and waving to the dragonborn after dusting himself off.

Ibuun had looked more than capable of hefting the tree, but she looked far less confident at the idea of crossing it. She tested it like she had seen Thistle do, but jumped back when she heard the wood groan, the middle bowing slightly.

"I'm not sure..."

"It'll be alright," Zhull said. "Just be quick. You can do it. Focus on this side and don't look down."

Ibuun nodded, putting her eyes forward and looking more resolute. She stepped carefully onto the log, her claws digging gouges where she stepped and began to cross, her little tail pointed as far out as it could for balance and her arms splayed like Zhull's. It took some time, but she made it halfway without issue.

Before her claws began to turn the log over.

"Oh no..."

"Just hurry!" Zhull said as quietly as he could. Ibuun nodded, taking a few more steps forward as fast as she could. Her claws didn't turn the log, they broke all the way through, and the ground went out from beneath her feet as she crossed the home stretch before the other side.

Zhull reached out first, grabbing her by the hand, her claws digging into the skin of his arm. When it was clear her weight would pull him over the edge, Thistle seized the back of his armor and tried to hold them still. When it was clear that she wasn't strong enough to stop both of them at once, Narani wrapped a tail around the frame of the entryway and seized Thistle's leathers, extending all the way out and anchoring them to the other side, stopping them from falling.

"This... is... ridiculous..." Thistle groaned, straining to keep a grip.

In the pit, Ibuun was half standing on the wall of the pit just below the lip of the other side, claws dug in and holding on. She looked back for only a moment. With how heavy she was compared to them, she may not get out if she fell back.

"Don't let go! We've got you!" Zhull said. If he felt her claws drawing blood from where she gripped his arm, he didn't show it. He got a new foothold, planted his heels in the soil and fell backward with the force of his pull, wrenching Ibuun the rest of the way up onto the lip as she landed on top of him in a heap. Thistle and Narani collapsed in their own pile, all of them gasping to catch their breath as the log fell the rest of the way into the pit. It split in the middle, the two sides still leaned against the lip, creating a broken, impromptu bridge imperfectly balanced between them.

"Made it..." Zhull breathed, grinning.

"Sorry about that."

"Don't apologize," he told Ibuun, patting her shoulder. "That was probably the easy part."

"I hate this," Thistle muttered, getting to her feet. "Can we please get this over with?"

"We have wasted enough time already," Narani said, shaking out her fur like a wet dog.

Zhull stepped forward and struck a torch to light it. The dark path spiraled down into shadows beneath them. Without wasting any more time, they all descended through the entryway and into the awaiting darkness.

~~

Beneath the earth, the air smelled of wet, fertile soil and weeds. The top of the entrance was hewn by tools and other civilized means which became more natural as they descended, as though something large and ravenous had chewed its way further down. Fifty feet around the bend, the path stopped at an archway covered in hanging vines and other subterranean plant life. They took a moment to carefully listen before brushing the greenery aside and stepping through.

The chamber beyond was circular as best they could tell with the torch, the walls covered in a mixture of marks from natural and unnatural digging tools. The path exited onto a landing that overlooked the rest of the chamber fifteen feet below, with two ramps on either side that hugged the wall and descended to the level below. From the top, they could see three tables haphazardly laid out below - one turned over and broken into pieces while the other two were laden with objects it was difficult to see. There seemed to be a small alcove dug into the wall at the back of the chamber a little over six foot high with another covered passageway just to the right.

"We are certainly onto something," Narani whispered, peeking over the edge. "But there is no sign of our culprit."

Zhull nodded and began making his way down the side ramp. "Let's have a look then." They all descended - Zhull and Ibuun going left while Thistle and Narani took the right ramp down.

Once below, Zhull found a couple of sconces pushed into the packed dirt walls with dusty torches hanging on either side of the alcove. Behind him, Ibuun and Narani investigated the tables while Thistle scouted another, similar alcove fifty feet opposite the one Zhull was looking at, underneath the landing.

"I don't like it here," Ibuun remarked. On the table in front of her, dead mice littered the tabletop, slain in a bed of straw, sticks, and burlap. Narani was picking through a similar scene on his own table, along with some small, precious stones that glittered in the torchlight.

"I believe this is the proof we need. These are not eaten and these may well be components of a scarecrow. Someone was working here."

At the alcove, Zhull lit the other torches, helping to illuminate more of the room including the inside of the darkened alcove. He gasped and jumped back as Thistle did the same opposite him, now able to see through the shadows. Two suits of empty armor faced each other from opposite sides of the room, standing as though at attention, supported with a wooden armature that held them upright.

"Gods... scared me half to death," Zhull said. Behind him, Thistle had rearranged her features back to her usual stoic cynicism.

"Coward."

"I just wasn't expecting it," he said, straightening his own armor and leaning in closer. "This is an older make. Maybe Juzari. Probably from before the Empire moved this far west."

"We are looking for an old soldier?" Narani asked.

Zhull scoffed. "Sure, if they were a few hundred years old."

"Is it worth anything?" Thistle asked.

That made Zhull laugh a little. "Doubt it. And I wouldn't want to drag it out of here anyway. Though it does make me wonder what it's doing here..." He reached out and dragged a thick finger across the metal surface of the breastplate, leaving a trail through the dirt and grime.

A near silent hum began to fill the room, slowly rising in volume.

"I think I might know why," Ibuun remarked.

A new light began to push away the shadows, this time from the armor itself. Both suits began to glow from within, an angry red light that shone through the helmet visors and all throughout the joints and gaps. The hum began to grow louder until it was a constant, magical buzz like the inside of a beehive. Held fast by the display, Thistle almost thought she could see the fingers of the gauntlets twitch.

It's hand wrenched up, lightning fast, and lunged for her, grasping for her throat.

She squeaked out a gasp, ducking out of the way just as fast to avoid the grab as the armor lurched its way from its armature, breaking the pieces of wood that held it in place like bones. Its twin did the same to Zhull, swinging out with the balled, iron fist. Zhull took a glancing blow off the shoulder and leapt back out of the way.

The two suits stepped out fully from their alcoves. The armored pair reached down to their waists, grabbing at the two sheathed swords and drawing them both, spinning them mechanically in their hands as though testing the weight.

The armor next to Zhull charged him in his moment of surprise. The first slash struck his shield while the next glided off his own sword.

"What are we supposed to do?!" he called, shield checking the armor away from him.

"Don't die, whether Ibuun likes it or not!" Thistle called. The armor closest to her slashed down, taking a chunk of the nearby table with it. The swords might have been old, but they had remained sharp. Thistle sidestepped the next swing and stepped forward, reaching out with a hand. It crackled with arching blue energy as she grabbed the armor by the faceplate, shooting a jolt of arcane lightning all the way down through the body.

The red glow from within the armor flashed brighter and dimmer alternatively, its body contorting into varying forms of seizing pain, as though actually inhabited by a living being. Yet the only sound that emitted from the body was the same low hum and the electric buzz of Thistle's magic.

As it convulsed, Thistle danced back out of its range, back-peddling up and onto the nearby table. By the time she was out of the way, the flickering light inside the body of the armor appeared to have calmed. It rushed forward, taking another slice out of the table in an attempt to catch up to Thistle.

Ibuun only had enough time to disapprove of Thistle's statement for a second before she brought her own shield to bare and charged into the armor, knocking it away from the table.

"I resent that," she growled to Thistle, baring rows of sharp teeth as she rushed in and began to hammer away with her mace.

Across the room, the other armor pulled back, then stabbed both swords beneath Zhull's sword and shield, throwing its arms up and leaving Zhull open. It brought both down in a double slash, but missed when Narani threw herself in the space between the armor's arms and extended her body, kicking them out of the way and barely missing Zhull.

"Thanks!" Zhull said, taking a step forward. He slashed once, then again, knocking both swords further out of the way as it tried to defend. "Still a little unclear how to stop them though!" The armor spun away and riposted, but came up short when one of Narani's daggers sunk into its shoulder, forcing it to drop the sword. Zhull took advantage of its open defenses and carved in with his longsword up through the side, slicing through the weak points in the armor. He knew that it wouldn't do anything if the armor was empty, but his body had acted on muscle memory and training.

Yet as the steel passed through the interior of the body, he felt some resistance within. The blade came out from his full swing trailed by an arc of red arcane energy that lingered only for a moment before fizzling in the open air.

"Oh..." he remarked. "You look tough, but you're not special. You're just as mortal as the rest of us." Zhull chuckled and redoubled his assault, dueling the armor further back.

The armor locked blades with him before driving an iron fist into Zhull's jaw. He spat blood onto the dirt floor. "Yea, okay... you're pretty tough.."

Behind him, there was a loud gong as Ibuun struck her shield, the entire room booming like a church bell. The vibrations traveled all the way down the armor, its body swaying as the light within flickered dangerously low, then hummed back to life. It dropped one of the swords from its hand before gripping the other sword with both and charging forward again. Ibuun had just lowered her shield, thinking the spell more effective in bringing it down and was taken off guard by the assault. The blade came down across her chest and though her breastplate took most of the blow, the joints at the shoulder and hip were less protected. Red drops began to litter the dirt below her as she snarled.

"Ow..."

"Ibuun!" Zhull called. "Are you all right?"

Ibuun nodded, turning momentarily to look at him behind her. Because she was white, she couldn't turn anymore pale other, but her eyes were wide.

"I would think more about yourself! Watch out!"

Zhull could see the armor in front of him, out of the range of his attacks. He wasn't sure what she could be referring to until he felt a stabbing pain in his side. He looked down to see the blade of the dropped sword stuck through from the back of his armor through the front, piercing him barely all the way through.

Behind him, there was no one holding the sword.

"What in the Hells...?" he bit out, wincing again as the sword pulled free. Rather than falling back to the ground, it floated in mid air, twirling a bit as it made ready for another attack.

"The sword is alive?" asked Narani.

Zhull brought his shield up in front of him. "Okay, this time I really don't know what to do." The sword swung forward and clashed with Zhull's blade as the armor tried to move into a better position to flank. Narani had to dash and tumble into his path to cut him off. The armor swung down, raking his sword across the packed dirt, slicing a deep gouge as Narani danced out of the way and began to strike out with her daggers, looking for weaknesses.

"Duck!" Thistle shouted. Ibuun had just enough time to get her head out of the way before she felt a sword swing over her head, carving an imperceptibly small chunk of her black horn off the top. The other sword that dropped was floating as well just as the armor charged the table with Thistle still on it.

It pounded its boot into the wood, tipping the table and nearly sending Thistle tumbling into the armor's sword, but the table settled back as Ibuun shield bashed the armor and knocked it back, sending out a guided bolt of light from her hand directly into the armor's breastplate.

The floating sword kept on target with Ibuun, attempting to attack in her blindspot. Thistle reached out just as the sword brushed the scales on the back of the dragonborn's neck. Thistle wrapped her fingers around the hilt and brought the sword up short, wrenching it back and holding on with both hands. Now captured, the sword began to pull her in all directions as it fought to free itself.

"It worked before..."Thistle muttered, her muscles straining to keep her grip. Her eyes glowed blue as she channeled another blast of lightning through her hands straight into the sword. Arcs of arcane electricity alighted from the tip of the sword and all along the blade. It made no sound, but it did stop it for a moment, the blade vibrating like a tuned fork before it resumed struggling.

Narani was crawling on the back of the armor, restraining its limbs with her tail as she moved around over its struggling body.

"I should be looking for pressure points. How am I supposed to defeat an enemy with no one inside?" she asked.

"Just stab it where you can!" Zhull said, deflecting another slash. "I don't know what but there's something in there that feels pain!" He parried the next stab and riposted. Zhull had been taught to strike at the wielder, not the sword, but there was nothing else to be done. He clashed into the blade and was surprised to find the sword now chipped. Though the swords were indeed still sharp, they also seemed brittle.

He redoubled his efforts, meeting the sword as it attacked with harder and harder counter attacks. Each time, he added a new notch or crack along the blade. Finally, it stabbed forward again. Zhull winced as he let the sword cut through his other side before wrapping an arm around the blade to hold it to his side. He brought his own sword down on top of it, right near the center, and heard a satisfying shattering sound as the metal splintered into pieces.

Broken, the sword fell in shards to the ground, where it remained unmoving.

"You are a very skilled fighter!" Narani cheered. Zhull looked down at his hand and grimaced when he saw red in his palm.

"They didn't cover fighting disembodied swords in basic training..."

Zhull's voice trailed off as he watched Narani struggle to keep the armor in check. It was trying to bat her away with one hand and although it didn't have a face, it's frantic grasps belied some kind of lifeless frustration. Finally, it gripped its other sword by the blade, throwing it directly at Zhull across the room, point first. Zhull barely had time to raise his shield before the sword pierced through it, the force of the throw driving him off his feet and onto his back, sword still sticking out of the shield.

It withdrew itself from the wood before driving down again, and again, and again, stabbing mercilessly into the shield, piercing through it further and further each time. With both hands free, the armor reached up and finally took hold of Narani, lifting her above its head while she struggled before slamming her back into the dirt floor. It raised both gauntleted fists again, bringing them down on top of her with one pummeling blow after another. Without the benefit of a shield, it was all she could do to try and roll out of the way and keep her hands in front of her face as the armor beat down on the rest of her.

"Narani!" Ibuun shouted, hearing the crashing of metal behind her. The distraction was enough for the other armor to toss it's last sword aside, leaving it to hover in the air as it grabbed the top of her shield. It wrenched it down far enough to land a fist across Ibuun's face, driving her back.

Atop the table, Thistle was still struggling to hold onto the sword. Even while she was holding the hilt it tried to slash at her, just grazing her forehead before she jolted it with another bolt of conjured lighting. It seemed to thrash harder in her grasp as the energy coursed over it, waving about more wildly as it tried to cut her.

"I'm not dying to a sword without even someone to wield it, thanks," she deadpanned, zapping it again. While it was stunned, she turned it over with both hands, plunging it down into the table below her. She placed her leather boot atop the pommel to keep it locked down, feeling it struggle weakling beneath her weight as she dodged out of the way of the other sword taking a swipe at her. She pulled out her own daggers just in time to catch the blade between them as it swung again.

"This really isn't working!" she said. "We're getting overwhelmed!"

"Working on it," Ibuun groaned, fighting for control of her shield back from the armor. She dug her claws into the dirt, moving forward until she could feel the armor lose its balance. She pushed harder, bashing her shield into it until its back hit the ramp with the sound of clattering metal. Ibuun pointed her finger behind her at the sword attacking Zhull, bashing her shield into the armor again.

The sound of the bell rang out again from the armor crashing against her shield. The sword began to vibrate violently from where it was lodged in Zhull's shield. He took the small window and took hold of the sword by the hilt and held it firmly wedged into the wood of the shield while he brought his own sword down on it. Like the other sword, it shattered into pieces.

"Thanks Ibuun!" he called. He took the broken sword in hand, rising to his feet and rushing to where the armor was bent over Narani. He grabbed the top of its helmet and forced the head back to drive the broken blade into the space between the helmet and the neck. Though there was nothing inside, he felt it sink through some kind of force inside, and it stayed when he pulled back.

Zhull turned and moved toward Thistle while Narani kicked the armor off of her, back onto its knees. They were about the same height as she pulled out her daggers. It tried to stop her, grabbing one wrist, but Narani drove the other blade through the space in the helmet's visor. The red glow from inside the armor grew brighter for just a moment before slowly fading.

When it was completely dark, the armor became limp, mostly falling apart into its disparate pieces.

"They can be defeated!" Narani shouted.

Zhull made it to Thistle just as she braced herself for the sword's next swing. Zhull took it by the hilt, redirecting its momentum as he hurled it into the dirt wall beside the armor Ibuun had pinned, sticking it there. Zhull was breathing heavily, clutching his side. Ibuun took a moment to reach back while the armor was pinned and muttered a word in a language Zhull did not know. The room grew brighter for a moment and he suddenly felt the pain from the wound near his hip disappear. He sighed, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"That's... a lot better!"

The armor shoved back as hard as it could while she was distracted, throwing Ibuun off balance and ramming its fist into her abdomen. She snarled at the pain, moving back even further.

"You're tough, but you're also predictable," she said, watching the armor advance on her. She held out her clawed hand, eyes glowing. "Don't move in straight lines in the next life." A beam of radiant energy erupted from her hand, washing over the armor and making it glitter with white light. The red glow from inside the armor was completely overtaken, and for a moment it glowed completely white from inside.

By the time the light faded, the armor was sprawled out in pieces along the ground. She sighed with relief as Zhull stepped up to the sword lodge in the wall. He brought his own down just above the hilt, shattering it while it was still inside the wall.

"This has been fun and all but I really do prefer to fight... people," he said, sighing.

"On that, we can agree," Thistle replied dryly, "but perhaps you'd care for just one more?" She was down on her hands on knees atop the table, hands around the hilt of the sword, fighting to keep it lodged in the table. The entire table was shaking as the sword struggled to free itself.

"Just for practice sake?" she asked, her voice shaking with effort. Zhull turned, head tilting as he tried to find a good angle.

"You gotta stop moving or I might take a hand," he said.

"Easier said than done," Thistle growled. Bitterness was enough of a catalyst to make her magic well up and she shocked the sword again, sending sparks of blue lightning dancing across the wood of the table. "Now's your chance!"

Zhull brought his sword to bear, then swung with both hands. Thistle let go with one hand at the last moment, letting Zhull's blade connect with the sword just above the hilt like the one from before. There was the resonate sound like one striking a tuning fork as lightning arced across the blade with a painful flash.

The table stopped shaking.

Moments passed in relative silence other than the hum of the sword, a faint light emanating from the blade. Zhull and Thistle shared a cautious look before she loosened her grip on the hilt. It didn't fight back.

"What did you do?" she asked.

Zhull shrugged. "What I did with the other ones. It seemed to work then." Still the blade hadn't moved yet. Thistle gripped the hilt tighter and began to draw it from the table.

Zhull put his hands up. "Careful."

"Obviously," said Thistle, but she continued to draw the sword anyway.

It emerged from the table with a sweet note. A spark of electricity crackled from the top. Though the blade was a little long for her size, Thistle could handle the blade well enough as she gave it an experimental twirl in her hand.

"What happened?" Narani asked, patting the dirt off her fur as she walked up.

Thistle's eyes were wide. "I think we enchanted it."

"I think we tamed it," added Zhull. He reached down to the armor on the ground, taking up the sheath that had hung from its hip and handed it to Thistle. "Nice work."

Thistle took the sheath, carefully returning the sword to it. The faint blue light in the room dimmed as it entered the sheath, but it did not resist or make any other movement. Thistle could feel something magical about the sword now that it was closer to her, even through the sheath, different from what she sensed before when it was merely sentient.

"We'll take it with us. I'll need to take some time to examine it."

"Congratulations on obtaining the coolest sword ever," Zhull remarked. Though he had helped in its creation, he looked genuinely pleased for her.

Thistle could only frown and turn away, sheathing the sword and placing it in a strap across her back.

"We should keep going."

"Well hurry up then," came a voice. The rest of the group turned toward the source. It was a little distant, but it came through from the only other exit to the room they were in. "Best not keep us waitin'."

All four of them exchanged a concerned look.

"That voice sounds familiar," Narani remarked, voice low.

Zhull's smile had completely faded, his grip tightening on the sword still in his hand.

"Bertram."


	8. The Hovel

There was no further conversation as the party advanced silently into the awaiting tunnel, leaving behind the broken remains of the suits of armor behind. Thistle swung the longsword over her back as her and Narani led the way through the creeping roots that obstructed the way out, then onward another fifty feet until there was another separation of dense roots. Narani tried to peek through inside, but as soon as she moved one of the roots they heard Bertram's voice again.

"No need for that, I know you're here. Might as well come on out and we can settle this like civilized folk."

Jaw set, Zhull stepped forward with Ibuun, Narani and Thistle behind.

The chamber beyond was slightly larger than the one before, also rounded as though hollowed out by the natural growth of the trees above and something else carving away the soil beneath. To either side of them, pools of black, brackish water gathered in the corners of the room, smelling of wet and decaying things. In the center of the chamber was another small pond about ten feet across surrounded by medium sized stones. There was no other light source in the chamber other than the pool itself, which seemed to emit a ghostly luminescence of its own, steam rising in faint trails from the surface.

Just behind it, illuminated from below, was Bertram, standing comfortably with a hand resting on one hip. The other hand gently held a dagger to the throat of a terrified looking Jeremy who stood trembling in place, eyes wide toward the rest of the party.

"You call this civilized?" Thistle whispered from behind Zhull and Ibuun.

Bertram chuckled, apparently hearing her even from so far away. "More civilized than a four-against-one, darlin'. Don' worry, is just some insurance to guarantee a fruitful conversation."

Zhull ground his teeth. "How in the Hells did you-"

"The how ain't important," Bertram interjected. "Don' pay him no mind, he's been well taken care of. Safe as the moment you rescued him. I don' see the point in undoing all yer hard work now. How's about we talk a while and get some things sorted. Unless you'd rather not, but I should warn y'all, I've a bad leg. If ye startle me I'm likely to slip and cut poor Jeremy here. He might even fall into this here spring. I can assure y'all, it ain't just water."

"Sulfur," Ibuun muttered, sniffing at the air.

Narani nodded. "I was thinking the same. A hot spring."

"And here be the source," Bertram said with a smile. "And the source ain't somethin' you'd like to swim in. Now, there are some things y'all want, and some things I want. Thus, I suggest a parlay."

"You already know what we want," Zhull said, stepping forward. "What do you need?"

As Zhull moved up, Narani took a step back into Zhull's shadow where Thistle was waiting. She quietly stepped through the shadows until her back was to the wall, where she took hold of some of the roots that were hanging from the wall and began to pull herself up.

There was a blur of motion from the center of the room as the dagger Bertram was holding embedded itself into the dirt near Narani's hand, severing the root she was holding. She slid back down to the floor and turned fast, her own weapon drawn.

"I said we was to talk like civilized folk," Bertram repeated. "Sneakin' around's hardly neighborly."

"Just tell us what you want," Zhull growled, grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

Behind them, Thistle was watching from Zhull's shadow, brow wrinkled in concentration. Jeremy looked desperate and terrified, but he had yet to say anything.

Nor did he seem to recognize them.

Slowly, Thistle reached up and brought down the gem in front of her eye once more like a lens. When Bertram didn't appear to realize what she was doing, she whispered a word to it and felt her vision expand, taking in more of what was in front of her. The darkness in the room faded somewhat, though she could still see the invisible creatures floating carelessly through the air, even here below the ground. Before it had allowed her to detect the presence of magic.

But it also revealed other details about what they were all seeing.

Slowly, Thistle leaned a little closer to Zhull, whispering in the lightest voice she could, "That's not him."

Zhull's eyes darted to her for only a moment, then back to Bertram, who was beginning to speak again.

"What I want is..."

"What?" Zhull asked.

"That's not Bertram," Thistle repeated, her lips barely moving. "And that's not Jeremy either. It's not real. It's an illusion."

"Are you sure?"

"Hey!" Bertram called, bringing the blade closer to Jeremy's throat. "Mind sharing what's so important over there?"

Thistle took a step forward, bringing up her bow and drawing back and arrow. "Very sure," she said to Zhull.

With that, she released the arrow. It whistled through the chamber, though it seemed to miss its target. She had been aiming for Bertram, but even though she could see more clearly through the gem, there was still some distortion around his form. The arrow went wide to the left, piercing through Jeremy's body. It continued on and embedded itself in the dirt of the back wall.

Jeremy didn't even flinch. His eyes were still wide, looking back and forth, awaiting rescue.

"Game's over, whatever you are," Thistle called, nocking another arrow. "Show yourself and let's have done with this. You've a lot to answer for."

There was a prolonged silence. Bertram - or what appeared to be Bertram - remained where they were, watching them with calculating eyes.

Finally, he chuckled. The voice that emerged, however, was much more cracked and high-pitched. He blinked and smiled, his dark eyes suddenly bright green and yellowed around the edges. His grin was missing a fair number of teeth, and they were almost black with grime.

"No fair, girl. That's cheating."

"You started it," Ibuun replied.

Narani joined the rest of the group once more. "You have a moment to explain yourself. Then we order you to leave and never come back."

There was another laugh. "No deal. But if you're not willing to bargain with me, that's fine. I can take what I want all the same." Bertram's form began to shift, the edges of a mirage becoming faint and indistinct. Slowly the shadow of Bertram grew and bent. The fingers and features elongated, the back extending and curving over itself. The face grew long, the skin sallow and green.

Finally, an elderly hag replaced where Bertram once stood, dressed in tattered robes of dark, mismatched fabric. Her long fingers folded in front of her and the image of Jeremy faded out of view next to her, the illusion rippling like disturbing the surface of water.

Narani gave a little hoot, flipping her dagger from one hand to the other. "You mean to engage with all of us by yourself?"

"If my scarecrow ransacker wasn't clear enough, I don't play fair," the crone replied. She gave a sharp whistle and looked toward the dark edges of the chamber. "Precious! Mother needs you, dearie!"

There was a disturbance in the dark water, a few large bubbles wetly bursting at the surface. A wave lapped against the little shore, then another. There was some sort of rumble that reverberated through their chests, some loud croaking call like a belch. Two large, yellow eyes appeared at the surface as the dark water seemed to swell. A large shadow removed itself from the pool, a little taller than all of them and three times as wide.

There was a splash and a slam. The enormous toad landed with a spray of sand and brackish water next to the hag, its throat swelling with a loud, gurgling croak.

"Feeding time, Precious. You can have two, whichever you want. The others are for me. I can think of some uses for them."

"I could think of some uses for you," Narani retorted, teeth bared. She drew two daggers from her belt, then another after holding the second in her teeth. She tossed the third one back to her tail, which expertly wrapped around the hilt before she ran forward. Though her legs weren't nearly as long as anyone else's, she moved with surprising speed, leaping onto stones surrounding the center hot spring and running along them. She leaped off on the other side, slashing down with all three daggers.

Despite the hag's apparent age, she proved surprisingly nimble. She dodged back, only the blade held by the tail catching her along the arm. She hissed, but she didn't stop smiling.

"I've been needing a new hide belt. I'm sure your hide tans as well as anything." Her finger joints popped as she clawed out, ancient blackened nails raking across Narani's body and spilling drops of blood across the dirt.

By the time Narani had moved, Thistle had hidden herself back into the shadows at the corners of the room. Her heels were near the water and she dared not move back any further. She drew an arrow and fired, grazing the hag. The arrow landed in the dirt on the other side of the chamber as the hag's head whipped around looking for her attacker.

Thistle tried to lower herself as low as she could to the ground and make herself as small as possible, as she'd been taught, but the hag's reflective eyes seemed to find her, even in the dark.

"Oh there are so many new accessories that have come to visit. Moon elf ears make such nice pendants. You'll love it," she threatened.

Though the hag was a fair distance away from her, Thistle could still hear her. In fact, she could hear her too well. Inside her head. The words of her threat echoed around in her mind with a throbbing pain too distracting to take aim again. She tried to shake her head to clear it, but all she could see were a pair of blue ears dangling from a leather thong around the hag's green neck.

Not nearly as agile as Narani, Zhull had to move around the perimeter of the pool, boots digging into the soil as he charged the massive toad before it could round on Narani. It's body swelled, perhaps trying to intimidate Zhull into submission. The half-orc only chuckled.

"You just make a big target," he said, unsheathing his sword from his back and slashing down. There was a wet smack and Zhull thought he found purchase.

Instead, the sword came away slimy and dripping with muck after sliding right across the toad's skin, gliding along the mucous membrane covering its body.

"Ugh... that's disgusting," Zhull said, but only because he hadn't experienced what came next. The toad rumbled with either satisfaction or hunger. Its wide mouth opened slightly, then more as a black and green tongue poked out from inside. With blinding speed, it shot out and slapped into Zhull's armor, sticking and wrapping around his midsection and squeezing. He gasped and brought his sword up to remove the tongue, but wasn't fast enough. The toad took a step forward, drawing the tongue back into its mouth at the same time. Its enormous mouth closed over Zhull's sword arm at the shoulder, along with most of his upper body, barely leaving enough room for his head on the outside. Though its teeth were relatively small for its size, they were still large enough to bite past the armor and into Zhull, who gave a frustrated shout of pain feeling the armor compact on him from the bite.

As Zhull tried to think of how to free himself, there was a blinding flash of light. A glittering beam of divine energy impacted the toad's face, dazzling both eyes. Rather than letting go, the toad bit down harder, sending a fresh wave of pain through Zhull as he tried to fight it off. He glanced over his shoulder to see Ibuun standing where they had been, eyes glowing and mace extending toward them, still sparkling with magical radiance.

"Sorry," she said.

"Don't worry about me! I got this!" Zhull shouted, pointing at the hag. "Get rid of her!"

Ibuun nodded, thought she wasn't sure how much she believed him. But she turned toward the hag anyway, bringing her shield up and slamming the mace into it. The space rang with church bells and the hags eyes grew as wide as they had seen them. Her hands went to the sides of her head and she screamed like a wounded animal. The rest of the group covered their ears - though they did not experience the intense psychic pain associated with Ibuun's Toll the Dead spell, it was haunting and loud inside the earthen chamber.

Ibuun made to step forward and attack her again, but the hag pulled her gnarled hands away from her face with a smile. "What? Do you think you hurt me? Mirrors are more frightening to me than you," she said. "You and your friend here have such nice skin." She pointed to Narani. "So many things I could make from both of you!" Her words were again laced with the same sort of magic that had affected Thistle, still shaking her head and trying to clear it. Ibuun's vision also blurred, her heart leaping into her throat in fear. She swayed, trying to blink away the terror clutching her heart and clouding her thoughts, but all she could see were the myriad of terrible things that her scales could become in the wrong hands.

"Leave her alone!" Zhull called, struggling against the toad. The hag gave him an unamused look, eyebrow raised. Narani dashed forward in her moment of distraction, but she backpedaled and scratched down again with her long nails, cutting through her again and forcing her to retreat.

"Stop playing with your food, Precious." The hag chided, at which point the toad swelled and croaked, opening its gaping mouth. It drew Zhull all the way inside with one swift gulp and consumed him whole with a satisfied rumble. Zhull didn't have enough time to plead for help before he was consumed by the crushing darkness of the toads innards.

Wide-eyed, Narani barely felt the pain of the hag scratching her as she watched Zhull disappear inside the mouth of the toad, armor and all. She whirled on the hag, long canines bared.

"Tell your pet to release him. Or else."

"Or what? I make it a point not to take orders from future clothing items, dearie. But if you're so worried about him, you're welcome to go in after him," she replied, motioning toward Precious.

"You'll have to kill me first."

"That's the idea, yes."

Narani growled, fur standing on end. If she could not be reasoned with, then there was no other choice. Her tail dipped low as she rushed the hag, dodging out of the way of another scratch and lashed out with her daggers. Before, she had thought it better perhaps to spare the hag in hopes that some justice may be meted out. Now her attacks were deadly accurate as she applied the blade wherever she could find purchase, moving around the hag with cut after cut, dodging back and switching blades between hand and tail so that the hag couldn't predict where the next attack would come from. By the time Narani was finished with her flurry the hag was covered in several bloody slashes that were beginning to paint dark lines over her skin.

Despite her obvious injuries, the hag appeared merely winded.

"You are beginning to wear out your welcome, monkey. No more games."

"Maybe one more," she replied. "Take your shot."

"What?" the hag asked, following Narani's gaze behind her. In the shadows of the room, Thistle and Ibuun had shrugged off the effects of the hag's psychic assault and had been taking aim.

The toad, apparently still hungry, was beginning to lumber toward Narani, looming over her with voracious intent. Thistle tracked its slow movements with a practiced eye, firing off an arrow. It plunged into the creatures head, landing just between the eyes with a spray of bluish-purple blood. The toad shuddered, its skull apparently thick enough to withstand the arrow, but it didn't appreciate its new accessory. It groaned and roared, its body swelling and shrinking as it thrashed, sticky webbed hands moving to its head and breaking the shaft off.

Distracted by the throws of her pet, the hag didn't see Ibuun casting a spell, another shining beam of energy that collided with the green-skinned body. She shrieked as a blast of steam rose from her as the blast burned a glittering mark across her torso.

"How dare you?!"

"He told you to leave me alone," Ibuun said, stalking forward, claws digging into the soil. "But he wasn't afraid for me. He was afraid for you." Her eyes were still glowing with a white-hot radiance that lit the chamber, almost painful to look at directly against the shadows.

Narani tried to take advantage of her distraction, but only managed to scratch the hag once before she wheeled on her and slashed her again, knocking her to the ground.

"You don't scare me. None of you. And when each of you are my next experiments, no one above will hear you scream."

"Or you," Thistle remarked. As they had been talking, she had moved to the shadows on the other side of the room without being followed, drawing another arrow. She fired again, once again at the toad. The tip embedded into the back of the creature's head at the base of the neck, causing a violent spasm to wrack the body. Its hands scrounged uselessly behind it, snapping the shaft again and giving a rumbling croak of anger. It swelled, looking as though it made to jump toward her, mouth open hungrily.

Narani rolled in front of it after being knocked down, striking it in the chest and stunning it. A sword tip emerged from within its body, slowly at first, then all at once. It slashed up through the creature, parting a way for Zhull, slimy and steaming, to come stumbling out, falling to his hands and knees and gasping for air.

"Oh...gods...that was terrible..." he spat. Globules of bile and bodily fluids dripped from his armor, sizzling as it came into contact with the dirt. His armor looked freshly corroded in places, and even patches of his hair and beard had dissolved.

The toad's face did not lend itself to expression, with its dark, beady eyes and enormous mouth. Yet if it could look surprised, its final face might have been the closest it could get. Never before had something it had put into its body reemerged. And it would never happen again. Its body slowly went limp as it fell to the chamber floor, legs still twitching with false life.

The hag hissed, eyes wide with anger. But rather than divulge another threat, she remained where she was.

Then vanished from sight.

They were all left blinking in the dim light. She had been there one moment, then was gone the next. Narani shook her head, hands rubbing at her eyes.

"Where did she go?" she asked. Looking around, there didn't appear to be anyone else in the chamber and there certainly wasn't someplace within where she could easily hide.

There was only the door...

"We... can't let her go," Zhull groaned, slowly getting to his feet and trying to shake off whatever ooze he could. "We need some kind of proof for the town that it wasn't Bertram."

Thistle frowned, watching the ground. Her ears twitched, trying to hear a sound that wasn't there. She could still feel the last vestiges of magic from the gem of seeing, about to reach the end of its uses until it needed time to charge. She quickly reached up and brought the lens in front of her eye, scanning the room.

It was faint - so faint she almost missed it even with the help - but she could see something. A form moving toward the door out of the room quickly. Not running fast enough to make a stir, but clearly bent on escape.

"The door! She's getting away!" Thistle was on the other side of the room, she couldn't make it in time. She would have to draw an arrow, but the magic on her gem was about to run out and she might lose her if she looked away. "Someone get to the door!"

Narani twitched to go, but Ibuun was faster. She kicked up clods of soil as she ran toward the door, impacting the figure by accident as she ran. Ibuun hissed, a line of dark blue scratches appearing across her arm below the armor, but she didn't stop. She placed herself in front of the door, clasped her mace, and swung wide. There was the sound of something heavy and soft hitting the end as the hag reappeared, staggering to one side. Before she could get out of reach, Ibuun lunged and grabbed her by the throat, raising her off the ground where she couldn't flee.

She had been slightly winded before by her injuries, but with Ibuun's spells and hitting her with the mace, she appeared severely beaten. Blood ran in rivulets down from her mouth and her voice was choked and weak.

"This... this was not what my dream foretold...." The hag whispered, looking angrily to the ceiling of the chamber, beyond them to something no one else could see.

Before any of them had time to commiserate about what was to be done about her, the hag hissed and reached back with her clawed hand. Taken off guard, Ibuun gave a squeak and tightened her grip. There was loud crack and pop and the life went out of the hag all at once.

~~

In the end, it was decided that her head would be proof enough for the townspeople.

"It's crass," Thistle had said. "She was evil, sure, but it's not necessary to maim the body."

"We need some proof and we need it fast," Zhull said, his sword already moving through the hag's neck. For what it was worth, it was a clean cut, expertly done. He then took some of the rags the hag was wearing and wrapped the head carefully, slinging it over his shoulder. "We wouldn't have time to bring everyone out here to look at the body. Bertram's life hangs in the balance."

"We could create an image of what she looked like," Narani said, motioning to Thistle.

"Can you do that?" Zhull asked. Without preamble, Thistle held out her hand, a small, ghostly hag appearing just above her palm, floating in air and veiled in green.

"I don't like it either," Ibuun said, "but they might think we're lying to them just to save him. I'll give the body a proper burial once we've cleared his name. I promise." Thistle crossed her arms, heading for the door, longsword still slung across her back.

"You suddenly find a conscience?" Zhull asked.

Thistle didn't turn around as she moved the roots out of the way of the exit. "There's a big difference between stealing and killing. An even bigger difference between stealing and mutilating a woman's body after she's dead."

The rest of them followed Thistle out of the chamber, making their way back the way they came.

"We have a job to do," Zhull said.

"Spoken like a good little soldier."

"You really don't like that fact about me, do you?" he asked, shaking his head. "I thought it was pretty useful here."

"Oh yes, getting eaten and sitting most of the fight out. What would we have done without you?"

"Hey, I helped. It wasn't as elegant or magical as the rest of you but it gets results. That toad is as dead as dead can be."

"Between our skill sets," Thistle said calmly, "stealing is the higher art."

"I vehemently disagree."

"Then you can stay mad about it. It's easy to kill your way through your problems, and easier to take advantage of people's bodies when they can't defend themselves. I concede that we have a job to do and someone's life hangs in the balance, but I don't have to like it and neither should you."

"All right, all right," Zhull said, one hand up in front of him. "You made your point. For the record, you did great back there. Couldn't have done it without you. And I mean that."

They rounded the winding path that had led them down to see the moonlight starting to shine down from the trapped entry to the lair. Thistle still hadn't looked back.

"I'm well aware of my worth," she remarked. "Flattery will get you nowhere." She leapt nimbly onto the log that now lay between the entry and the other side of the pit, leaning in two pieces on either side like a broken bridge. Her balance was impeccable as she made her way down to the break, stepped across, and walked back up to stand on the opposite side. She turned and crossed her arms, impatient for them to join her.

Zhull rubbed the back of his head. "Gods...was it something I said?" he muttered to Ibuun.

She shook her head. "I think she's that way with everyone. I'll take care of the head once we're done with it. Don't worry."

"Do you agree with her?" Zhull asked. He might have only been half listening, but Ibuun took a moment to think as he maneuvered himself onto the log, arms outstretched to keep from falling as he began to ascend. Ibuun was still thinking as she followed suit, claws digging into the wood, this time giving her support rather than breaking the log. Narani was light as a feather as she made her way across, and soon they were all walking away from the hovel together back toward Colomon Fields.

"The church teaches us that we should respect the vessels our souls inhabit once the essence has departed," she said finally. "But more for those who survive. The body is no longer an aspect of the one who's died, and if it was their time, they won't be coming back to it."

"The spirit leaves to join their ancestors," Narani added, walking beside them. She looked askance at the head in the makeshift bag. "Whoever they are. And wherever they reside beyond this life."

"I get it's bad," Zhull said, "But there's no one that's going to miss this one. She was trying to kill us. Who knows what else she was getting into down there, and clearly she meant the town harm." Zhull shook his head, frowning and looking ahead. Thistle was making her way through the underbrush out of earshot.

"I guess it's just the principle. I don't understand how Thistle could feel for her," Zhull said after a pause.

There was a small smile at the edge of Ibuun's scaled lip. "I don't know if she'd ever admit it, but she's like me. We both have a deep love of life." She turned to Zhull, making to pat his pauldron, but thinking better of it when she saw the acid scars across the surface. "If you want to work better with her... maybe try and take that into account."

"All I know is how to hurt things," Zhull replied, scratching his chin. "But we still have a lot to do together. I guess I can give it a try."


	9. Bertram's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I went back and added another scene at the end to make it canon. The rest of the chapter will continue in the next part.

Morning in Colomon Fields was red with tension, the sun sitting on the horizon like a coal in a campfire. As the group entered the town for the second time, they were greeted with a familiar view. Much like the previous morning when they had been roused within the barn, the bottom of Bertram's drive was busy with townspeople glaring up at the house. Chief among them, Gedric was out in front of the crowd, once again shouting up to the house loud enough for the group to hear him calling from beyond the tree line.

"Look 'ere, Bertram, ye've had all night but the hour for justice is nigh! Come on out or we'll come all the way up there and let ourselves in! Don't make this harder on yourself! Yer little band of mercs have abandoned ye and ye've a lot to answer for!"

"Bertram hired mercs?" asked Zhull, coming to stand beside Gedric. As before, the crowd was so focused on their zealotry, they didn't notice the group approach. Gedric started for only a moment before recognizing them.

"Ye-yer back?" he asked, blinking.

"We are not mercenaries." Thistle was near the back of the group, arms crossed. "We're helping someone in need, unlike the rest of you."

Thistle's tone was enough to bring Gedric to his senses, a deep frown making his black beard sink lower on his face.

"Ye've no right to judge me, woman. I am protecting this town. I dun have to apologize to ye for that."

"Are you really protecting this town?" she asked, pointedly. "Or do you just not like Bertram?"

Gedric huffed. "Whatever I might feel for the man hardly matters. We've sent a formal missive to the regional magistrate to uphold the rule of law here in Colomon's ourselves, which I'm sure will be approved so that the magistrate doesn't have to come to this little farming town on his own time. If ye actually want to be helpful, then why dun ye lot go up there and bring the man down yerselves, aye?"

"Do you really not like him that much?" Ibuun asked, standing beside Zhull.

"I said it doesn't matter."

"That's not a 'no'," she replied.

The rest of the townsfolk had been surprised into silence and were observing this back and forth with some interest, though there remained the restless energy of defending their town against Bertram. Gedric glared at the four of them for a long time before he loudly cleared his sinuses.

"He's a mysterious man, that Bertram. Keeps to himself. We're a bit out of the way here in Coloman's, but we speak to one another. What's more, being up at all hours of the night? Sneaking around town under cover of darkness? And with witnesses? Beggin' both yer pardons, but this ain't hearsay," he explained, looking to both of them.

"Aye, he rubs me the wrong way," he continued, running his thick fingers through his beard. "But that only means my intuition about him was correct. The man has it out for poor Mrs. Stockstead and her weens! Surely he has plans for the rest of us as well if we don't do something!" There was a rallying cry from the gathered crowd and a general push toward the gate that separated Bertram's dirt drive from the rest of the main road.

"Hold on, hold on!" Zhull shouted, putting his hands up and moving in front of the gate. The rest of the town stopped, but only just. Though all of them were shorter than Zhull, they all leaned forward with a hunger, eyes always on the house.

"That's better," Zhull said, standing as tall as he could to intimidate the mob to make sure they didn't push passed him. "Bertram is still innocent. We found the true culprit. And we have evidence."

The energy of the crowd shifted as they turned to one another to whisper a bit before an anonymous voice broke through.

"Who was it?"

"Show us!"

"I'd like both of those things," added Gedric, crossing his arms in front of him. "We also have strong evidence."

Mindful of Thistle watching him from where she leaned underneath the shadow do the tree, Zhull carefully brought the makeshift satchel forward. He unwrapped it just as carefully, handing the dirty linen to Narani to hold for a moment before revealing the severed head of the hag to the rest of the crowd.

There was an immediate outcry of shock and disgust, the full mass of the crowd taking a collective step back from the head. Though Gedric didn't move, his face was the picture of surprise. Zhull stepped in front of Gedric, handing the head down to him slowly. Gedric took the head gingerly, as though he wasn't sure what else to do in the moment. He almost dropped it, perhaps surprised by its weight, which made the rest of the crowd flinch as they looked on.

Gedric turned the head over with both hands to inspect it. "And who is this... interesting looking woman supposed to be?" he asked.

"A hag," Narani said, folding the linen in her hands. "Living deep in the woods outside of your town, beyond your farms and the old graveyard." There was another murmur that made its way through the crowd. Gedric looked around for a moment, feeling some of the energy of the mob shift.

"And do ye have any proof that this isn't just some poor, ugly woman ye beheaded for the sake of yer testimony?"

For a moment, Zhull's face went blank, and it became clear to the rest of the group that he thought the head irrefutable proof. It was also clear to the group not only was he not expecting that question, but that he would also be implicated in a murder in the process.

"Well... I... uh..."

"Yes?" Gedric asked, sensing his weakness. "Let's hear it then."

There was another small pause before Narani cleared her throat. "Show them the sword."

Zhull blinked for a moment, but Ibuun clapped her clawed hands together.

"Oh yes! The sword!"

"Do I have to?" Thistle asked.

Gedric turned to look at her. "Do ye have to what, miss?" he asked.

Thistle rolled her eyes and sighed, pushing off from the trunk of the tree to stand.

"Gedric," she said, "You seem a nosy sort. I suppose you remember what I had with me yesterday? Or do you not recall?"

Gedric raised a black eyebrow, his frown deepening. "Aye, I recall."

"Thistle..." Ibuun cautioned, but Thistle pretended not to hear her.

Thistle reached and took the sword from off her back, holding it in its sheath with both hands.

"So then I'm sure you don't remember this?" she asked.

"No, I don't. Yer a wee bit small to wield such a blade," he said. Thistle's jaw tightened, but she tilted her head and let out a breath.

"Since none of us were carrying this longsword yesterday, that must mean we found it last night while we were dealing with the hag you are now holding."

Gedric scoffed, handing the head back to Zhull with disdain, wiping his hands on a kerchief. "Or found it in the woods whilst muckin' about through the night."

"Perhaps," Thistle said, "if this were any other sword. Why don't you come and inspect it now that you've cleaned your hands. But careful, you're a wee bit small to hold such a blade."

Gedric's nostrils flared. "Now yer bein' racist," he muttered. Still, he made his way over and took the blade in one strong hand and drew it. He spent a moment looking it over carefully. "I don't see anything remarkable."

"Not yet," Thistle said. She held out her hand as though to take the sword back, but there was a spark of blue energy in her palm that snapped at the air. The blade flashed a brilliant blue for a moment before pulling itself free of Gedric's hand, floating through the air to hover by Thistle.

"You see, Gedric, this sword comes to life. It was enchanted by the hag."

"Just like the scarecrow!" Zhull called, realization dawning on him. He hadn't quite understood the direction the conversation had taken but now fully grasped what Thistle was getting at.

"Just like the scarecrow," Thistle confirmed. "No doubt you were watching Bertram's house the whole night to ensure he didn't skip town. Did he leave at all last evening?"

Gedric's eyes widened a bit, fingers twitching at his sides. "No."

"Indeed. That we found this sword in the same place as the woman who admitted to us that she brought the scarecrow to life is some pretty solid proof of Bertram's innocence."

With renewed confidence, Zhull carefully handed the hag's head off to Ibuun before stepping beside Gedric. "We want the same thing, to keep the people here safe. You were just trying to help, we know. But we did the heavy lifting for you. Now, you don't have to burn anyone's house down and you and the rest of the town can return to your lives. I think you just might owe Bertram an apology."

Gedric's eyes flitted over the crowd's faces as he thought. Where once there had been a shared fervor to rush Bertram's house, the townspeople now seemed to hold their breath, looking between one another and waiting for what Gedric had to say.

After a few heartbeats, he left out a breath, eyes closed. "Aye. We owe ye our thanks... for protecting the town from this enemy." He opened his eyes and looked out to the crowd. "Ye heard the man. Take yerselves home. Be thankful that we dun' have to seek our own justice."

The energy went out of the mob all at once. Some looked defeated, others relieved, but together they retreated back to their respective homes and farms to begin the day's work. Gedric was the last to turn to leave, but Zhull raised a hand to stop him.

"Aren't you forgetting some- hey!" Rather than stopping, Gedric merely ducked under the half-orc's arm. His eyes were downcast to the dirt as he made his slow way back toward his house, a pensive look on his face before he disappeared around the bend.

"Nevermind..." Zhull muttered. "Well, let's go deliver the good news."

~~

Beyond the tree line near Bertram's, Ibuun scraped away a heap of dirt with her claws, scrounging out a small hole in a green patch illuminated by the midday sun each day. Once cleared, she hefted the hag's head, reaching into her pouch of spell components and retrieving two gold coins that she placed over the eyes. She then placed the head into the ground and buried it before bringing her hands together and offering up a prayer to Kelemvor.

It began slowly at first, then came quickly as she felt the calm of his presence settle over her. A fraction his nearly-infinite power channeled through her from some other plane. The daylight seemed to grow more intense for a moment, shining down through the trees onto the spot where the hag's head now lay. Atop it, greenery began to poke its way through the newly tilled soil while one long sprout rose above the grass. A white blossom sprouted from the tip of the stem. Ibuun opened her eyes and sighed happily and at the new flower, its fragrance muted but pleasant. Satisfied, Ibuun turned and made her way back toward Bertram's.

When she opened the door back into his house, there was already much discussion coming from his little kitchen.

"-pushed through the vines leading out of the chamber with all of the armors and the sword only to discover you were there!" Narani exclaimed.

"Me?" she could hear Bertram asking as she walked into the room to meet them. Narani and Zhull had monopolized the table, taking up most of the room alongside Bertram himself, who sat nursing what smelled like a cup of dark coffee. Thistle was beside the door she entered from, leaning against the frame and watching them.

"Did I miss anything?" Ibuun asked, sidling into the room. The house was not entirely halfling sized, but the ceilings were a little low for someone as tall as Ibuun, her horns were just below scraping the paint.

Thistle shook her head. "Just got to the best part, actually," she whispered while Zhull and Narani continued their retelling. "Did you bury her?" Thistle asked, finger tapping her arm with that same restless energy.

Ibuun nodded. "Yea. She won't be coming back any time soon."

"Was that something we needed to worry about?" Thistle asked, eyes growing fractionally wider.

Ibuun shook her head. "Not necessarily, but now we know for certain that she'll rest in peace. She's under Kelemvor's protection now."

"Splendid," Thistle muttered, then jumped like a cat when Zhull slammed his fist onto the table.

"It! Was! Disgusting!" he shouted, throwing his arms out. "It was huge and slimy! The bastard actually managed to eat me, but I cut my way out, thanks to everyone here! I would have been frog food."

Narani nodded along. "And I would have been a new pelt for that terrible woman, though I suppose I commend her on not wanting me to go to waste. Silvanus would be pleased about that."

"We like you much better as a comrade, Narani," Zhull said, clapping her on the back with one wide hand.

There was an air of merriment, despite Thistle's consternation at the noise. Bertram, who's face could peel paint off his wall, gave a crooked little smile at their excitement.

When the halfling felt eyes on him, however, he cleared his throat and stowed the expression.

"Look... I ain't good at these sorta things. Words ain't somethin' I ever known how to use. But I owe y'all a debt a gratitude. I make a modest livin', but I can compensate ya for yer trouble."

A look was passed around - first from Narani to Zhull, then Zhull to Ibuun, then finally they all turned to Thistle against the wall, eyebrows raised. She met their stares with cool impassivity before closing her eyes with a sigh.

"Don't worry about it."

"I can't just let ya-"

"Don't," Thistle repeated, "worry about it."

Bertram's brows pulled together and he sat silently for a moment. After a few seconds, he nodded and cleared his throat again.

"I appreciate that, but in this house, we take care of our own. I ain't got much coin, but I got other things I ain't usin' that might be better suited with y'all." He stood from the table and made his way up his shallow stairs. A minute later he returned, a shortbow slung over his shoulder. He removed it and held it out for Narani to take.

"I was a young halflin' back during that first war, fightin' for the Empire, of all people. But they was lookin' for small folk like me for scouts and sentries. I didn' have no family and wasn't really doin' much for myself so I took the job. Had this enchanted with what little money I had to my name and went in. Saw some things... a lot of things..." A shadow fell over his face as his eyes turned toward the ground, but it passed as quickly as it came on.

"After it was done, all I wanted was to get away from it. I took what payment I received and bought this little place, built it up myself over the years. Kept to myself . I don't much care for other folk most of the time, and those I did are gone now. I ain't got no more use for martial weapons, especially enchanted ones. Y'all should have it."

Narani was turning the bow over in her hand. It was compact, functional rather than elegant with a dark brown finish that needed to be reapplied after years of use and weathering.

"Enchanted?" Narani asked. "What can it do?"

"Say yer tailin' an enemy and mean to shoot him before he shoots you. Ya fire and the wind catches the arrow and goes wide. All ya got to do is concentrate on that shot while it's still in the air, and the bow can redirect it back to yer intended target. Only works once a day, but most of the time, that's all it has to work."

"Incredible," Narani said, holding the bow gently on her lap. "We accept your gift and thank you for your hospitality."

"Don't mention it. Day's wearin' on, I know y'all got places to go but ya should leave in the mornin' so ya can get there before dark. Stay another night here, I got space for ya in the house."

~~

While Narani and Thistle remained at Bertram's, Zhull's restlessness forced him to leave. Colomon's was quaint and temperate in comparison to Zhull's hometown, but it did lack things that might occupy him. At home, he might have gone to the tavern or went for a climb in the bluffs, even hunted something and brought it home if he had enough time. In Colomon's, there was little to distract someone from their thoughts. Perhaps he could understand why Bertram was the way he was...

Despite its small population, no group of people can resist a drink. Thus, even in a little town like Colomon's, there was at least a little place – the humbly named Fat Troll further beyond the borders of the town, at the edge of the farms and next to the woods. Once it might have been a farmhouse, but whatever fields might have belonged to the owners there had long since overgrown, leaving only the little house, creepers grasping at the sides as though looking for a drink themselves.

"Hospitality was more profitable than horticulture, ya see," the barkeep was saying, a dwarf with a closely clipped beard and close shaven head. Zhull was listening, for his part, while he counted out a number of coins atop the bar, spreading them into separate piles. The barkeep was closely watching them, like a cat waiting for its dinner. "So ma family left the farming business for upkeep of our little place. Bottom floors for the tavern, upstairs is for us. We're thinking of building a guesthouse and renting out the upper rooms, if we can save enough. Since Colomon's doesn't have it's own inn, we'd have the lion's share."

"I think you should," Zhull agreed. He pressed one silver coin beneath his finger and slid it to the barkeep. "I'd take another."

The dwarf smiled, taking the silver and placing it in his apron. "Of course. Whatever ye need. Least I can do ta thank ye for helping us."

Apparently, news of the group's exploits was the topic of the day, with mixed results. Some were grateful, others suspicious. Zhull understood – small towns were like that. They would believe what they wanted, but Zhull would know. A flagon of the homebrewed mead slid down the bar while the dwarf turned to serve one of the other townsfolk.

The door opened and the barkeep waved past Zhull.

"Evening miss. Care for a drink?"

"Not yet, thank you," said Ibuun, taking the seat next to Zhull. The half-orc smiled to greet her while she took note of the coins spread out. "You look sad, Zhull. Is something wrong?"

"Me? No..." he said, taking a drink of mead. It hid his face, but only for as long as he could drink. When he finally put it down, he couldn't bring himself to force another smile. "I mean, not sad. Really. Maybe a little homesick."

Ibuun looked to the coins on the table. The shininess of them made her heart speed up a little, but she controlled her face. "You're sending money to them," she inferred.

"I do what I can," Zhull replied, moving a few more silver out from the main pile to the smaller one. "Life's hard for our kind no matter where we are. We do well enough, but every bit counts when you're living hand-to-mouth."

Ibuun leaned a little closer. "Who's in your family?"

Zhull looked straight ahead, eyes somewhere else. One side of his mouth curled into his crooked, toothy smile. "My mom's Naruna, the resident blacksmith in Reborough. It's the trading post outside Al-Jazeem. It's rough out there in the desert and hotter than Hells, but it was freeing. I'm the oldest. The twins were born a while after, Thok and Nala. They're still orclets, but they're old enough to be a handful. Mom's terrifying sometimes, but it takes a firm hand with us. Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Orclets? Is that what they're called?" she asked.

Zhull chuckled. "That's what I call them." Ibuun filed that knowledge away for later. She noted that Zhull hadn't brought up his father, but he spoke before she could ask. "What about you? What are your folks like?"

"Fine," she said quickly. Perhaps too quickly, since Zhull finally turned to her with a piercing look. Her cheeks were blushing dark blue and she scratched at her black horns with a claw. "I'm just the opposite, the youngest of four. My sister is Maldrith, the oldest, a royal advisor to some monarch I can't remember out east. My other sister is Yaxora, who's serving in the Wildmoor Vanguard protecting the city. Grivys is my brother, a potioneer and teacher in Wildmoor's magical college, like the College at Senai. My parents are politicians in Wildmoor. Then there's just... me." Her eyes were downcast by the time she was done, but she squeaked when Zhull clapped a hand on her shoulder playfully.

"C'mon, you're a powerful cleric! You slayed a hag and saved a village! You should give yourself some credit, no matter how impressive the rest of your family is."

Ibuun smiled. "They are impressive, it's true. I honestly don't know that much about them. They're older than me and when they left to seek their fortunes, they didn't come back unless they had to. Everyone was so busy, as were my parents. I had a lot of time to myself." Ibuun's eyes were staring forward, a small smile at the corner of her mouth. "It's been nice having all of you around."

Zhull grinned. "We're happy to have you too, or at least I am." He leaned in conspiratorially to whisper. "To be honest, I don't think the sneaky ones like me that much."

"They're... well..." Ibuun spoke quickly to defend them, but found she had nothing to say that felt true on whether or not they approved of each other. She liked them all very much, that much she knew, but what they felt about each other? "Well, I enjoy your company, at least."

Zhull laughed. "The feeling's mutual." He took another sip, running a finger around the rim of the flagon. "The two of them are capable fighters. I'd give my life for them if I had to. I just don't agree with sneaking through shadows and stabbing people in the back. It's not honorable." He took another gulp of mead and frowned. "But that could just be the orc in me."

"I'm still getting used to even fighting," Ibuun admitted. "What happened with the hag was an accident. Before I would have said there's no honor in violence at all. Now, I've killed something..." Her claw absently scratched at the wood of the bar, face serious.

Zhull shook her by the shoulder again. "Don't sweat it. It needed to be done. We only kill to protect ourselves and others. We don't plan on killing anyone innocent," he said.

"Thank you. I'll trust in you then," she said. She couldn't help but think of the task that lay ahead; delving into the ruins and finding whatever was down there. How much more violence would it take to accomplish their goal? She wished they had a better plan, but they wouldn't know enough to make one until they got there. For now, all she could do was try to relax. "Is the mead good?"

"It's not dwarven ale, but it beats water," Zhull said.

She leaned over and sniffed it, her snout wrinkling. "Eugh... how to people enjoy this?"

"That's the secret," Zhull smirked, "no one enjoys it. But if you get passed the taste, you can forget your woes for a while. Responsibly at least." He turned to the barkeep. "Another for my friend here!" he called. There wasn't an acknowledgment, but a few moments later, another pint slid down the bar to Zhull, who passed it on to Ibuun.

She flinched at his shouting, but took the pint. "I don't suppose you've ever been the quiet type." She bent her nose down to the froth, a forked, blue tongue testing it. She was still frowning, but tossed the mug back until it was empty. She swayed in her seat and hiccuped.

"Oh... I'm so sorry!"

Zhull was gripping the bar in laughter. "That's the spirit! How do you feel?"

Ibuun blinked, eyes wandering. "I think I like it... Reminds me when my brother drank liquid fire to practice fire-breathing."

"Dragonborn do that?"

"When they're younger. They think it helps the fire-breath come faster for those who can, but it's a myth. But it helps practice." Ibuun laughed. "My brother was too young. They're black Dragonborn. They secrete acid, not fire. And I'm ice. No one thought to tell him before he tried it though."

Zhull frowned. "Wouldn't they all be white Dragonborn like you?"

Ibuun tilted her head from side to side in nonchalance, lifting a claw toward the barkeep. "Can I get another?"

Zhull waited, but Ibuun let the silence linger, scratching a small symbol of scales into the wood of the bar while she waited for her drink. When it came, she drank deeply again before she said, "I'm the only white dragonborn in my family."

"That would make you the "black" sheep, then?" Zhull asked.

"You could say that," she replied, smiling a little at his joke. There was another pause before quietly said, "I was a mistake. Not my mother's. We don't really know how it happened."

Zhull frowned. "I don't follow."

"She's never been with anyone other than my father, but somehow I came around. Dragonborn are very particular about not mixing colors. Probably something held over from our dragon ancestry since they don't mix colors either. Those who do tend not to have children. So... we just don't know." She looked to Zhull, looking small.

But if she was afraid of his scorn, it didn't come. He merely said, "Huh... well I suppose that makes you extra unique."

Ibuun blinked. "Um... I guess so. Thank you?"

"Of course," he said smiling. "None of us would be here right now without you. That sounds hard, but that's not going to make any difference to us. Just be yourself."

Ibuun flushed blue. "You're very sweet, Zhull." She sighed and took another sip. "I feel more comfortable with all of you than I have with others in a while."

Zhull frowned. "Thanks for the compliment, but don't tell our enemies that. I've a reputation to keep." Though he tried to remain stoic, he couldn't help but give a smirk. "And thanks for coming by. I feel a little better too."

Ibuun laughed. "Of course," she said, and hiccupped.


End file.
